Lieutenants Honorverse
by Scott Washburn
Summary: This is the sequel to "Tales from the Academy"- Honorverse. Anny, Patric, Helen and Alby have graduated from the Royal Manticoran Naval Academy. Follow their adventures as they take on their first active duty missions.
1. Prologue

**Lieutenants**

**By Scott Washburn**

**Note: If you haven't read "Tales from the Academy – Honorverse" please go and read that first!**

**DISCLAIMER**

What follows is a work of fan fiction. It uses characters and situations created by David Weber. It is not authorized, recognized or, as far as I know, known to exist by David Weber or Baen Publishing Enterprises. My efforts here should be taken as a sincere homage to the wonderful universe of Honor Harrington that David Weber has created. I in no way mean to imply that I can do a better job than Mr. Weber.

Scott Washburn

July 1999

**Prologue**

**S**ylvia Thayer watched the titanic bulk of Her Majesty's Space Station _Hephaestus_ grow in the viewport of her pinnace. She had not had reason to visit the station in nearly a T-year and she was amazed at the changes that had taken place in that time. The huge, lumpy cylinder was at least ten kilometers longer than it had been and several dozen new building slips and repair bays studded the addition. All of those slips had vessels being built in them. Thayer shook her head in awe and admiration. Between the new slips and the facilities that had already been there, the equivalent of a whole battlefleet was under construction before her eyes - and _Hephaestus_ was only one of several such facilities in the Manticore star system.

A small thrill of pride ran through Thayer. The terrible war with the People's Republic of Haven was in its twelfth year and with no end in sight. The Royal Manticoran Navy had sustained heavy losses during that time. But the Fleet - the fleet Thayer's whole life had revolved around -was bigger and more powerful than ever.

As the pinnace got nearer, Thayer's eyes were drawn to a ship that was floating just beyond one of the repair bays. It was tiny compared to the leviathan dreadnoughts and superdreadnoughts of the Fleet but Thayer recognized the sleek lines and menacing shape of a battlecruiser. Her last command had been on such a ship and a sudden longing to stand on its flag bridge filled her. The feeling was so powerful it made her shudder and wrench her eyes away.

_Someday, maybe someday. _

Thayer looked down at her hands. The cuffs on the sleeves of her tunic were circled by one broad gold band and two narrower ones. She was wearing the uniform of a vice admiral. The First Space Lord, Sir Thomas Caparelli, had made good on his end of an unspoken agreement and Sylvia Thayer had received her promotion from rear admiral. Thayer had kept her part of the bargain, too, and agreed to another term as commandant of the Royal Manticoran Naval Academy on Saganami Island. Except for rare times like this, she did not regret her decision. Training the young officers who would someday command the ships that were taking shape outside the viewport was tremendously rewarding. As proud as Thayer was of her earlier accomplishments as a combat commander, it could not quite compare with how she felt about the Academy and her cadets.

_I'm just getting old. I'm a sentimental old fool._

The Academy had always been a special place to Sylvia Thayer. She had been a Navy brat and had been dragged from base to base throughout the Manticore star system while growing up. At age sixteen she had entered the Academy and spent four T-years there. After graduation, she had gone from ship to ship in an endless cycle. Now she had spent four more T-years on Saganami Island. She had lived there longer than anywhere else in her life. Of all the places in the galaxy she had been, the Academy was home.

A small thump jolted Thayer out of her musings. Her pinnace had entered one of the station's multitude of docking bays and was now resting on the deck. As she watched, a boarding tube extended from one of the bulkheads and made fast to the lock of her pinnace with a barely audible clang. Thayer unstrapped from her seat and made her way to the airlock. The interior of the large vessel was unoccupied except for her. Normally, she would have taken a smaller shuttle, but she was on a tight schedule today and the pinnace's impeller drive had allowed her to make the 40,000 kilometer trip up to _Hephaestus_ in just a few minutes

"All secure, Admiral," said a voice over the com.

"Thank you, James," answered Thayer to her pilot. "I'll probably be two or three hours. Feel free to debark if you want. I can always com you when I'm ready to leave."

"Aye, aye, ma'am, I'll be ready when you are."

Thayer pressed the proper button on the airlock controls and the door slid open. She stepped inside the lock, closed the inner door behind her, and then opened the outer door. Bending her knees, she leaned forward and then pushed herself off like someone doing a swan dive into a swimming pool. Her motion carried her out of the artificial gravity field of the pinnace and into the null gravity of the boarding tube, so instead of falling flat on her face, she floated down the tube like a gliding bird. Thayer had always prided herself on her skill in zero-gee maneuvers. This was the first opportunity she had had to test herself since she finished the therapy on her newly regenerated leg. She floated down the exact center of the tube and she grinned when she saw that her motion would carry her all the way to the end without her needing to push off from the side of the tube.

_The old lady still remembers her stuff!_

The grin left her face when she saw what was waiting for her at the end of the tube.

_Damn! I told them I didn't want any fuss!_

The full side party that the rank of vice admiral entitled her to stood at attention in the boat bay. A platoon of marines in dress uniforms stood to one side and a gaggle of naval officers on the other. Directly in front of her was a short, pudgy man in the uniform of a rear admiral.

Thayer reached the end of the tube and grasped the metal bar that hung down. She swung herself across the glowing red line that warned of the return to full gravity and landed lightly on her feet. A tiny twinge in her right knee reminded her that her leg was not completely healed yet. She brought her hand up and saluted the man facing her.

"Permission to come aboard, sir?"

"Granted, Dame Sylvia, granted!" gushed the man, returning her salute. "Welcome to _Hephaestus!"_

"Thank you, Admir...Sir Hunter," said Thayer awkwardly. "I was not expecting a reception like this. I had sent a message to your office requesting..."

"Yes, I know," interrupted Rear Admiral Sir Hunter Kinkaid with a grin. "But I couldn't just let you come aboard like a common rating now could I?"

Thayer held back a grimace. That is exactly what she had hoped to do. She had personal business on the station and she did not want to get snarled in the red tape of an official visit. That was the reason she had chosen one of the military docking bays instead of a VIP bay that had its own internal gravity field. In theory, she could have come aboard unannounced, but that just was not done. For her to board the station without informing Admiral Kinkaid she was coming would have been like him roaming around Saganami Island without telling her. If she had been a lieutenant or even a captain, it would not have mattered, but admirals were the prisoners of their own rank. They could not tread on one another's turf without the courtesy of informing each other. Thayer had sent the required notice to Kinkaid's office and requested that her visit be treated in a low-key fashion, but he had ignored her wishes.

Kinkaid was now directing Thayer to where his staff was waiting. He enthusiastically introduced each one and Thayer smiled and shook their hands and forgot each name the instant it was told to her. The only name she was likely to remember was Kinkaid's and that was mainly because it seemed so inappropriate. The name 'Hunter Kinkaid' brought to Thayer the image of one of the bold explorers on the edge of human space. A brawny man with rippling muscles, conquering new worlds with nothing more than his wits and a vibro-blade. It was impossible to reconcile that name with the round, teddy-bear of a man puffing next to Thayer.

Kinkaid introduced the last person in his staff and then turned and looked past Thayer, back toward the boarding tube. He then looked at Thayer in surprise.

"Your staff...?" he began.

"I came alone, Admiral," said Thayer, deliberately using his rank rather than his title. "As I said in my message, I am here on personal business. I can only stay a short time, and I had really better be going."

"Oh dear, I was hoping you could stay for lunch!" said Kinkaid in dismay.

"I'm afraid that won't be possible on this visit, Admiral. I'm simply here to see off some friends and a family member." Thayer very openly examined her chrono. "And I'm already running late. Thank you for your courtesy, Sir Hunter, I hope I can return and enjoy your hospitality on another occasion. But right now, I must be going - with your permission, of course."

"Er, of course, Dame Sylvia, you have the run of the station," said Kinkaid in a flustered fashion. "Can one of my staff accompany you to where your friends are waiting?"

"That won't be necessary, Sir Hunter, I can find my own way," said Thayer with a smile. She saluted and then turned and walked toward one of the transport stations, leaving Kinkaid and his staff gaping at her.

Fortunately, there was a car waiting and Thayer was in it and off before Sir Hunter could think of some excuse to come after her. Once she had punched in her destination, she leaned back in her seat and let out a sigh of relief.

After a moment she looked at the panel that showed her location and saw that she had a few minutes to wait before she arrived at her stop. Thayer took out her compad and made a note to herself to arrange some sort of social invitation for Admiral Kinkaid. She knew that she had probably offended Kinkaid and she had to make up for it somehow. The upper echelons of the Navy ran, to a very great degree, on an "old boy/old girl" network. Admirals did favors and owed favors and an awful lot of the Navy's work got done because of it. Thayer now 'owed' Kinkaid and she needed to even the score in case she ever needed a favor from the commander of Her Majesty's Space Station _Hephaestus._ And, of course, that was exactly why Kinkaid had been so eager to greet her in the first place: someday he might need a favor from the commandant of the Royal Manticoran Naval Academy.

Thayer knew she was going to be running into more and more of this sort of thing now that she had been promoted. As a rear admiral she had been marginally involved in the network, but she had been one of nearly a thousand rear admirals in the Fleet. Now she was one of less than a hundred vice admirals. And even though she was the most junior of that select body, her position as commandant gave her far more influence than all but a few of her peers. There were a great many people in the Fleet who would love to have Sylvia Thayer owe them a favor. Thayer was still slightly amazed at the effects of her new status.

And the knighthood did not hurt either.

While she had been expecting the promotion, the knighthood had come as a complete surprise. Thinking back, she realized that she should have expected it. There were very few vice admirals in the Fleet who did not have some sort of title. But it _had_ surprised her. Sylvia Thayer was descended from 'zero balancer' and yeoman stock and as far as she knew there was not a drop of noble blood in her veins. Titles and the privileges that went with them were always for other people, not her.

Secretly, Thayer had always thought the monarchy and the aristocracy was a pretty silly way of running a world, and her own knighting had only confirmed that belief. She had been knighted not so much for her accomplishments or even because she had friends in high places. Rather, she had been knighted because of the _enemies_ she had made. The strict new rules of discipline she had been expected to enforce when she was made commandant had outraged a great many of the Peerage who had children at the Academy. No one too important, but enough of them that they could have made serious problems for a commoner like Thayer who had no patron. The pressure to remove Thayer built slowly but steadily until the Admiralty was forced to act. But they acted in a fashion other than what Thayer's detractors wanted: they arranged with Her Majesty to have Thayer knighted.

It was done in a public ceremony to send a clear message to Thayer's critics. The official message was that Thayer had the full support and confidence of the Crown. In plain English, however, the real message was: "I need this woman. Back off!"

And that was all it took. There had been no trouble since. Pretty damn ridiculous when you stopped to think about it.

_I wonder what Mom and Dad would have thought of this? Not too shabby for the daughter of a pair of CPOs!_

A soft chime sounded in the car and Thayer looked up to see that she was approaching her stop. The car came to a halt with no sense of any motion and the door opened. Thayer got out and found herself in a busy corridor. Moving past crowds of spacers and marines, she entered a large open space that stretched away from her into the distance. The roof was far overhead and sunlight streamed through the polarized armorplast windows that lined the walls below the roof. At floor level there were all manner of shops and eateries and entertainment establishments.

Thayer was in the main commercial section of the station. Although _Hephaestus_ was a military base, thousands of people passed through it every day and tens of thousands more worked and lived aboard. The Navy permitted a number of privately owned businesses to operate in this one section. Thayer strolled as briskly as the crowds would allow. She checked her compad from time to time to help her find the one establishment she was looking for. It was a bit of a walk and she found herself being distracted by the people and places around her.

Almost all of the people were in uniform, mostly Royal Navy or Marine, but a considerable number were wearing the uniforms of Alliance navies. She saw a pair of ensigns in the Grayson Navy's unusual blue uniforms looking in a shop window. When they saw her looking at them they gawked at her like she was a Sphinxian hexapuma. Thayer was sure they must have seen women in uniform before - there were hundreds all around them right now - but maybe never one so high ranking. Thayer kept walking and had to detour around a company of marines. They were carrying their duffel bags and must have been switching ships here at the station. A sergeant was swearing at them lustily to keep together and not straggle.

Thayer turned down a side corridor and kept an eye peeled for the place she was looking for. She almost missed it anyway. She had walked past it before the modest sign registered on her consciousness: "The Drydock". She double-checked her compad, but there was no mistake, this was the place.

She walked inside and looked around. It was a small restaurant - hardly more than a lunch counter, really. A few booths were against the outer wall and there was a counter with stools opposite them. A half-dozen ratings were scattered about and a man stood behind the counter. All of them looked up in surprise at Thayer. Apparently vice admirals were not part of the regular clientele.

"Can I help you, ma'am?" asked the man behind the counter.

"I'm meeting some people here, but I don't see them."

A look of understanding came over the man's face. "Ah! They're around the corner there, ma'am." He pointed to the far end of the counter and Thayer saw that there was an adjoining space. She walked over and saw a few tables in the next room. Five people were sitting at one of them and there was a single empty chair.

Thayer smiled. All of them were in the space-black uniforms of the Royal Navy and she knew each one. A thin, blonde-haired woman caught sight of Thayer and bounded to her feet.

"Aunt Sylvie!" cried Helen Zilwicki gladly, "You made it after all!" She came over to Thayer and hugged her warmly.

"Well, I certainly wasn't going to let my only goddaughter go off to war without saying good-bye!" said Thayer, returning the hug. She spoke lightly, but the full meaning of her statement was like an icicle through her heart.

Helen detached herself and Thayer turned to greet the others who had all stood up. A young woman with elaborately braided brown hair and striking green eyes came forward first.

"Ms. Payne, good to see you again," said Thayer taking her hand.

"Thank you, Admiral," said Andreanne Payne, "it's good to see you, too."

Next was a very tall young man whose head was only a dozen centimeters below the ceiling. Thayer shook hands with Patric McDermott and he stuttered a greeting.

After McDermott was a small, boyish figure who looked positively tiny next to Patric. He had unruly red hair and freckles and a wide grin.

"Hello, Mr. Hinsworth," said Thayer. "I had a little trouble finding this place and I was beginning to wonder if you had hacked into my compad and scrambled the directions."

Alby Hinsworth blushed but met Thayer's glance evenly and his grin grew wider. "I only hack into Peep computers these days, ma'am. Don't blame me for your faulty navigation." Thayer laughed.

Lastly Thayer turned to greet an elderly man in the uniform of a chief petty officer. His hair and mustache were nearly white and he had a long row of hash marks on his sleeve.

"Well, Chief, still riding herd on this pack of rapscallions, I see."

"Yes, ma'am," replied Jon Seaton with a twinkle in his eye. "It's a tough job, but somebody's got to do it."

"You know the Chief, Aunt Sylvie?" asked Helen.

"Oh yes, he and I go 'way back," chuckled Thayer.

"That we do," confirmed Seaton.

Thayer knew that Chief Seaton had taken the foursome of youngsters under his wing while they had been at the Academy. Somehow it did not surprise her that he had never told them about another terrified plebe that he had befriended forty-five years earlier.

The six of them now found places around the table. Thayer glanced at her surroundings.

"My, what a...charming place," she remarked.

"It's a special place, Aunt Sylvie," said Helen. "Patric and the Chief first met here."

"Actually we met out in the passenger bay, but we ate breakfast here," corrected McDermott.

"I see," said Thayer. "Then it is an appropriate place for a farewell, too."

A silence settled over the group. None of them had really wanted to think about that. Fortunately, the silence only lasted a moment and then a woman came bustling up to their table.

"Ah! Your missing guest has arrived I see!" she began and then stopped in her tracks, staring at Thayer. She looked at Seaton in surprise. "You are coming up in the world, Jon! Entertaining admirals now!"

Jon Seaton chuckled and introduced Thayer to the restaurant's owner. The woman seemed properly impressed. She took Thayer's order and then disappeared again.

Soon Thayer was sipping at a drink and listening to the casual conversation that was going around the table. It was all far too casual, really. They were avoiding the real reason they were here and they all knew it. The four young people had spent over three T-years as Academy roommates. They had gone on their 'prentice cruise together and had fought and bled at each other's sides.

And today was good-bye.

They would try to be lighthearted about it, give each other a 'So long, see you in Hell' sort of banter, but each of them knew that today could well be the last time they would ever meet. Thayer had gone through it enough times herself to know what was in the minds of these new officers.

They had graduated six months ago. Three of them had spent that time in advanced training, but Lieutenant (junior grade) Andreanne Payne had spent it catching up on the classes she had missed while recovering from the wounds she suffered on her 'prentice cruise. The visible effects of those wounds could be seen on her uniform: The blood-red wound stripe on her sleeve, the two ribbons for gallantry on her chest, the tiny pip marking her as a survivor of a ship lost in action, and her lieutenant's rank itself. Thayer wondered what other effects there might be that she could not see.

"So, Ms. Payne, I understand you and Mr. McDermott will be heading off to your home world for a while," said Thayer.

"Yes, ma'am, although I'm not sure how homelike it will seem to me. I've spent most of my life here on Manticore. I have not been on Grayson since I was nine years old."

Thayer nodded. Anny Payne was a native of the male-dominated planet of Grayson. However, her father was in the diplomatic service and he and his family had been on Manticore since the start of the war. The fact that Anny was sitting here today was a testament to her determination and courage. Women were not permitted to serve in the Grayson military, but Anny found a way around that: she had joined the Manticoran Navy instead. At first, Thayer had doubts if Anny had what it took to be an officer, but she was very glad to have been proved wrong.

"Do you have your assignments yet?" asked Thayer.

"Yes, ma'am," said Anny with a smile. " Patric and I will be serving aboard the _Alliance."_

Thayer raised her eyebrows. "That's one of the new _Harrington_ class ships, isn't it?"

"Yes, ma'am, she's just about to start her acceptance trials. We report aboard in three weeks."

"A superdreadnought - and a brand new one to boot - I'm envious. My first assignment was a very old light cruiser," said Thayer.

"It's terribly exciting," nodded Anny.

"And you are going along too, Mr. McDermott?"

"Yes, Admiral, I'll still be Anny's 'male protector'. The GSN is insisting that Anny have one."

"So you are both transferring to the Grayson Space Navy," stated Thayer.

At the start of the war, Grayson's navy was virtually non-existent and their technology was far behind that of either Manticore or Haven. In spite of that, in an amazingly short time Grayson had built a first class navy that in the Alliance was second only to Manticore in size and second to none in its technology. Quite understandably, an expansion of that magnitude had left the Graysons terribly short of experienced officers. Right from the start, Manticore had been lending its own officers to the GSN - this in spite of the fact that the Royal Navy was badly short of officers itself. In the last few years, the number of officers lent to the GSN had dropped as Grayson trained its own officers and gained experience in battle.

Some officers were still being lent, however, and there had never been any doubt that Anny Payne would be one of them. The political leadership of Grayson were progressives and they were slowly trying to do away with the laws and customs that kept women as second-class citizens. A lot of progress had already been made, thanks in large part to that remarkable Manticoran woman, Honor Harrington. One restriction that was still in place, however, was on Grayson women in the military. There were women in the GSN, but they were all Manticoran or Alliance officers who had been lent to Grayson. When the powers-that-be learned of Anny's plan to go to the Academy, they latched on to it as a way to break that restriction. If Anny could become an officer in the Royal Navy, she could then be lent to the Grayson Navy. Then the Progressives could point to Anny and show that there was a Grayson woman in the Grayson Navy. Thayer knew that the original plan had been to have Anny get a few years of experience in the Royal Navy before making the transfer, but after Anny's courageous actions during her 'prentice cruise, the decision was made to do it right away.

"Yes, Admiral," said Anny, "I'm not sure how long it will be for, but we'll both be in Grayson service."

"Do you have plans to return to the RMN? Considering your background, I would think you might want to stay in the Grayson Navy permanently."

"I have not really thought that far ahead, Ma'am," said Anny with a nervous smile.

"What about you, Mr. McDermott? Not that it is any of my business."

Patric McDermott looked down at the table and shuffled his feet. "I don't know, ma'am. For now I'm going with...going to go into the GSN. In the long run, I just don't know."

Thayer nodded her head and gave a grim smile. McDermott was in love with Anny Payne. Thayer had never had any doubt about that. Now it seemed he was being torn in two. Thayer did not envy him.

"Sometimes you just have to follow your heart, Patric," said Thayer quietly.

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you, Admiral."

The group was silent for a few moments, then Thayer turned to Alby Hinsworth.

"Mr. Hinsworth, you said you were hacking into Peep computers these days. Are you finding anything interesting in them - or is that classified?"

"Well, no and no, Admiral," grinned Hinsworth. "Right now I'm still in the training process. They give me old Peep computers off captured ships to practice on. Anything in them is stuff we already know. Basically, I'm just familiarizing myself with Peep programming methods and protocols. Eventually, I'll be working with intelligence reports from the field and trying to predict what the Peeps are up to as far as their computers and electronics are concerned."

"It sounds interesting," said Thayer, trying to conceal her real thought that it sounded incredibly tedious. "So you are part of Naval Intelligence?"

"Yes, ma'am, I guess my grandmother wanted me where she could keep an eye on me."

Thayer smiled. Admiral Patricia Givens was Alby's grandmother. She was also the Second Space Lord and head of the Bureau of Planning which contained the Naval Intelligence Department. It did not surprise Thayer that Alby had ended up in Given's domain. Nepotism was a fact of life in the Royal Navy and the aristocracy definitely took care of its own. If Hinsworth made no major screw-ups, he could be assured of rapid promotions and a long and successful career - assuming that was what he wanted. When he had been a cadet, Hinsworth was a thorn in Thayer's side. He was very intelligent - brilliant even, where computers were concerned - but he had graduated dead last in a class of over two thousand because of an incredible number of demerits. It had seemed to Thayer that Hinsworth did not want a naval career and she had despaired of trying to teach him discipline or responsibility. He had improved dramatically in his last form at the Academy, but it also did not surprise Thayer that Admiral Givens was keeping him on a short leash.

"Well, I wish you the best, Mr. Hinsworth," said Thayer. "Just a word of advice: You are not a cadet anymore, this is for real now, and Admiral Givens is not as forgiving as I am."

"That I knew already, Admiral," replied Hinsworth with a grin, "but thank you anyway."

Thayer chuckled and then another silence descended on the group. Thayer's eyes were drawn to the young woman sitting next to her. Helen Zilwicki was staring back at her. One side of Helen's mouth was drawn out in an expression that could instantly become a grin or a frown. There were things that Thayer needed to say to her goddaughter - and things that Helen had to say in return. Some of those things Thayer did not want to hear even though she already knew what they would be. But there was no putting it off. Things were going to happen no matter what Thayer did.

"You have not told me how you made out in your preliminary training, Helen," said Thayer at last. "You are shipping out, but you did not tell me where."

The side of Helen's mouth curled upward a tiny bit. "I wanted to surprise you, Aunt Sylvie."

Thayer suppressed a shudder. _I don't want any surprises at this point!_

"Oh," she said keeping her voice level, "and just what is this surprise?"

Instead of answering, Helen reached into a pocket and brought out two small objects that she placed on the table in front of Thayer. One was a small silver pin in the shape of a stooping bird of prey. The other was a round, embroidered shoulder patch. On the patch was a multi-headed creature on a background of stars. Some of the dragon-like heads were breathing fire and others were crushing starships in their jaws. Around the edge of the patch were the words: _HMS Hydra _and_ CV-6_.

Thayer stared at them for an instant. _Oh God!_

For a moment, Thayer could not speak, but fortunately, Helen's friends caught sight of what was on the table and jumped in.

"You got the _Hydra_? Oh, Helen, that's great!"

"Way to go, Helen!"

"Well done, Helen, you've really earned it!"

Alby slapped her on the back and Anny came over and gave Helen a quick hug. Thayer just sat and stared at the two objects that in all probability would cost Helen her life.

_LACs! God! I knew she was taking the training, but I had prayed she would change her mind. And a carrier, too! _

The _Shrike_ class Light Attack Craft were some of the newest weapons in the Alliance's arsenal. They were small ships, incapable of hyperspace flight. They were extremely fast and carried a powerful armament for their size. Before the war, LACs had been very common, but advances in technology had rendered them obsolete and they had fallen out of favor. In the endless cycle of advances in military technology, new equipment had made the LACs a potent weapon once more. The Alliance was building them in great numbers and they had scored some notable successes against the unprepared Peeps. The new _Shrike_s were far more powerful and better protected than the ones Thayer had known as a young officer before the war. But they were still the proverbial "eggshells armed with sledgehammers". One good hit would blow a LAC to tiny pieces. Even the successful actions against the Peeps typically cost the LAC forces ten or fifteen percent casualties. It did not take a mathematical genius to calculate a LAC crew's life expectancy.

It had not surprised Thayer that Helen had applied for LAC training - and with her record at the Academy, she could have virtually any assignment she wanted. Helen was a brilliant tactician and utterly dedicated to the Navy. While the LACs might be dangerous, they also were a way for an ambitious young officer to quickly rise through the ranks. Someone with Helen's talents could expect to become a squadron commander

within months and command a wing in a year or so-assuming she survived.

But Thayer knew there was another reason for Helen's choice.

Twelve years ago, just before the start of the war, the Peeps had attacked a Manticoran convoy. The commander of the escort has taken on the Peeps even though the odds were impossibly long. She had saved the convoy but her escort had been wiped out with all hands. The escort commander had been Sylvia Thayer's best friend - and Helen Zilwicki's mother.

For years hatred of the Peeps had consumed Thayer. To her horror, Thayer found that the same hate was infecting young Helen. Thayer had finally mastered her own hatred, but Helen was still struggling with hers. Thayer knew that Helen had accomplished a major breakthrough in conquering her hate while she was on her 'prentice cruise. But the recording chip from Helen's space suit had also told Thayer just how close a thing it had been. Thayer had never told Helen that chip had survived, and only a few people had heard it before it was erased, but its contents had given Thayer nightmares.

Was Helen's choice of the LACs a desire to get in close with the enemy? Did she still hunger to see the Peeps blown apart with her own eyes? Did she insist on having her own finger on the trigger? Thayer did not know.

But she did know that Helen was taking an enormous risk. The Alliance was producing LACs by the hundreds. Most of them were being formed into system defense squadrons and sent to bolster the thin-stretched garrisons of the Alliance systems. LAC crews were being trained in similar numbers to man the tiny warships. Most of those squadrons would see little or no combat: they were simply there to free larger warships for other duty. But the best of the LAC crews - the very best - were selected for the new carriers that were being built. The carriers could transport the LACs through hyperspace and into combat. They were offensive weapons, not defensive. The LAC carriers would seek out the enemy - and the losses among the LAC crews would be high.

Thayer was very proud that Helen had been selected for carrier duty, but she was terrified as well. The young girl sitting next to her was the most precious thing in Thayer's life. Her mother's death had nearly destroyed Thayer. The thought of Helen being killed was more than she could bear.

Thayer became aware that the congratulations had stopped and Helen was looking at her expectantly.

"Helen..." Thayer began. Her eyes flicked to Jon Seaton on the other side of the table. There was a small smile on the old man's face, but his eyes met Thayer's and for a moment he seemed to be sharing her pain.

"Helen," said Thayer again and she forced a smile. "That's wonderful, Helen, I'm so proud of you. And another new ship! Four new officers, fresh out of the Academy and three of them keel plate owners on their first assignments! Did you ever hear of such a thing, Chief?" Thayer was babbling, but it was that or break down in tears.

"No, ma'am!" said Seaton. "Why, my first ship was so old we had to shinny up the ratlines and set the Warshawski sails by hand!"

The others laughed, but Helen's eyes had not left Thayer. They were wide and gleaming.

"Admiral? Would you do me the honor?" she said, indicating the insignia lying on the table.

Thayer blinked back tears. _Oh God, I am so very proud of her!_

"Of course, Helen, and I'm the one who should be honored."

Helen and Thayer got to their feet. Thayer reached a trembling hand towards the silver pin that denoted a trained LAC officer. She would have rather picked up an angry Sphinxian fire slug, but she forced herself to do so and she pinned it to Helen's lapel. Then she took the shoulder patch and peeled off the backing to expose the adhesive. She carefully positioned it on the left shoulder of Helen's tunic and pressed it in place. It was almost exactly over the spot where a pulser dart had torn open Helen's shoulder on her 'prentice cruise.

They stepped back and looked at each other. Helen's hand snapped up in a salute and Thayer returned it solemnly. The other four applauded and Helen blushed and smiled at her friends. Thayer was trying to figure out what else to say, when the restaurant proprietor saved her again by appearing with their meals. Thayer was not particularly hungry by this point - in fact her stomach was churning - but she forced herself to sit down and eat.

The conversation around the table became lighthearted again and Thayer did not say a great deal. She did learn that Helen was now on her way to the Unicorn Belt in the nearby Manticore-B system. The major LAC production facility was there and _HMS Hydra_ would be training her LAC contingent in the same area. Thayer stared at the patch on Helen's shoulder. Before the war, the Navy had not gone in for distinctive unit patches like that. They were becoming more and more common now. Ship patches, squadron, and fleet insignia were popping up all over. Often they were not even officially approved, but no effort was made to get rid of them. The Admiralty knew they were good for morale and helped build espirit de corps. _And if any outfit needs to have their morale kept high, it's those LAC crews!_ Thayer thought back to an action earlier in the war. Her battlecruiser had been raiding a Peep system and in desperation the Peeps had thrown about thirty of the old style LACs at her because they had nothing else available. The action had been short and one-sided and there had been no survivors on the Peep side. The _Shrikes_ were far more powerful than the ships Thayer had massacred with so much satisfaction, but still... Thayer shuddered.

Her thoughts returned to the present and she realized that the others were exchanging glances with each other and sneaking looks at her. _Now what's going on?_

Anny Payne glanced around sheepishly and then stood up.

"Admiral, we have something we would like to present to you." She looked at Patric, who reached under the table and came up with an object that looked like a small briefcase. It had a hinged lid and a carrying handle and seemed very heavy for its size. The others cleared a spot on the table in front of Thayer and Patric placed it carefully down. Thayer could not imagine what it was.

"We wanted to get something special for you, Admiral," continued Anny, "but for awhile we could not think of anything appropriate. Then we had a bit of good fortune. We would like you to accept this in token of all that you have given to us and to our class and to the Navy."

Even without knowing what was inside, Thayer was quite touched. She slowly turned the case around and undid the latches and lifted the lid. She looked inside and for a moment she could not quite figure out what she was looking at. Then it hit her and she was stunned. It was a heavy metal plate about forty centimeters long by thirty high - a ship's builders' plaque. It read:

_PNS Sword_

_CA-326_

It was the plaque from the ship they had captured on their 'prentice cruise! Thayer's mouth opened and closed several times but no sound came out. Attached to the plaque was a smaller metal plate with words engraved on it:

_Captured by the officers and crew_

_of HMS Relentless in gallant combat._

_Maastricht System_

_February 17, 1916 P.D._

"How...how did you get this?" asked Thayer, finally getting her voice to work.

"The salvage crew at Maastricht took it off the wreck," explained Anny. "They were not sure what to do with it until they thought of us. They were the ones who put on the smaller plate."

"Normally a trophy like this would go to the capturing ship," said Helen, "but the regulations are a bit vague about what to do when the capturing ship is destroyed, too."

"We contacted as many of the survivors of _Relentless_ as we could, but they basically left the decision up to us," said Anny.

"I...I'm not sure I should take this," said Thayer.

"Well, we would like you to take it on behalf of the Academy," said Helen. "Perhaps you could add it to the collection in your office."

"We would really be honored if you would accept it, Admiral," said Anny with a solemn look on her face.

Thayer was very moved. A captured enemy builder's plaque was like a battle flag in ancient times. It had tremendous emotional importance. For these youngsters to offer it to her!

Thayer smiled. "Of course. On behalf of the Academy, I would be pleased and honored to accept. And thank you. Thank you all very much."

The cadets blushed and stammered a few 'you're welcomes'. An awkward silence ensued for a few moments.

Then Jon Seaton suddenly looked at his chrono and exclaimed: "Sometimes I think I'm the only one in this crowd who can tell time! If we don't get a move on, Patric, you and Anny are going to miss your shuttle!"

Patric grinned at his friend. "It's not that late, Jon, but I guess we should wrap this up."

"Aunt Sylvia, my shuttle's not for a while yet, can you stay and see us all off?" asked Helen.

"Of course, Helen, for this I'll make the time."

They got up and said good-bye to the restaurant owner and headed out into the main corridor. They slowly made their way through the crowds to the departure bay. Thayer walked next to Helen and glanced at her frequently. She had the same ribbon for the Conspicuous Gallantry Medal as Anny Payne and the same Wound Stripe and the same lieutenant's rank. She also had the same Survivor's Pin; indeed all four of the youngsters had one of those for surviving the destruction of _HMS Relentless_. But Helen had always seemed so different from the others: so determined, so serious, the perfect cadet and now the perfect officer. _Is she really that different? Or is it just because I love her so much?_

They reached the departure bay and Anny, Patric, and Helen got their bags out of the lockers they had left them in. Thayer decided to put her heavy gift in a locker rather than carry it along. The conversation was becoming more and more forced as they walked down the long line of boarding tubes. They reached the proper one and the shuttle was just starting to let people on board. They had about ten minutes.

"Well, I guess this is it," said Patric.

Anny and Patric came over to Thayer and shook hands and said good-bye. Then Anny went over to the Chief and kissed him on the cheek. Patric embraced the old man but Thayer could not hear what he said to him. The Chief was blushing and his eyes were wet.

"Well, well," said Jon Seaton. "Let's not get all emotional now! You two be careful. The last time I sent you off you got your ship all dented up. For some reason they gave you medals. I don't think they'll be so forgiving if you let it happen again!"

Anny kissed Alby's cheek and hugged him and Patric shook his hand. Anny came over to Helen. The two young women stared at each other for a moment. Anny had saved Helen's life during their 'prentice cruise and Thayer knew that there were no words that were adequate at a time like this. Anny's lips were quivering and she had tears on her face. They embraced and clung to each other for a few seconds, then Anny pulled away. She grabbed up her bag and walked to the departure tube without looking back. Helen just stared after her. Patric stood there for a moment and then put his hand lightly on Helen's shoulder.

"Good-bye, Helen, take care of yourself."

He picked up his bag and gave a small wave to others, "Bye," he said, and then followed Anny.

The four remaining people walked over to the viewport and watched the shuttle preparing to depart. No one said anything. A few minutes later it was gone.

Helen stirred. "Well, I better get to my shuttle too," she said in a raspy voice.

"I really should be getting back to work," said the Chief. "So if you don't mind, I'll say my good-byes here, Ms. Zilwicki."

Thayer looked on gratefully as Helen said farewell to Chief Seaton. He wanted to give Thayer and Helen a few minutes alone together. Unfortunately, Alby did not seem to take the hint and tagged along as they walked to Helen's boarding tube. Thayer glanced at him and his usually impish face had a strange, serious expression on it. He was quick-witted enough, however, that after he and Helen had shook hands and said good-bye he stepped away to give her and Thayer a little privacy.

They stood a meter or so apart and stared at each other. Thayer suddenly had a million things to say to Helen, but now there was no time.

"Aunt Sylvie, I just want thank you for all that you've done for me - for everything."

Thayer held out her arms and Helen moved into her embrace. They held each other very closely and the tears started down Thayer's cheeks in spite of her furious blinking.

"I'll try to make you proud, Aunt Sylvie," whispered Helen.

Thayer clung a little tighter. "I've always been proud of you, Squirt," she whispered back. "Just get yourself back home, do you hear?"

Helen stepped away and nodded her head. Her face was wet, too. She picked up her bag and started toward the boarding tube. Unlike Anny, she stopped and looked back and waved.

And then she was gone.

There were just two of them left now. They went to the viewport. The shuttle detached its boarding tube and then lifted off. A few moments later it was just a dwindling speck, vanishing among the multitude of stars. Thayer's hands were clutching the sill of the viewport like a pair of claws.

_Dear God, bring her back safe!_

After a moment she took a deep breath and shook her head. She noticed that the young man next to her was still staring after the vanished shuttle.

"Are you sorry you are not going with them, Mr. Hinsworth?"

Alby looked at Thayer. "I've had my taste of combat, Admiral, and I can't say I liked it." He resumed looking out the viewport and there was a faraway look in his eyes. Thayer recognized that look and realized that Alby Hinsworth was not staring at the docking bay. He was seeing again that twisted hell that had been _HMS Relentless_.

"But I don't much care for being left behind either," he whispered.


	2. Book One

**Lieutenants**

**Book One**

Preparations

**Chapter One**

**A**ndreanne Payne stared out the narrow window at the rolling blue-green landscape. The house she was in stood on a hill and rich fields of grass dropped away into the valley below. At the bottom of the valley a small river could be glimpsed between the trees that lined its banks. On the other side, the fields continued until they met with distant forests that ultimately gave way to snow-capped mountains. The only signs of human presence were a scattering of isolated buildings and one larger structure covered by a sparkling dome that could be faintly seen in the distance.

Anny had almost forgotten how breathtakingly beautiful her home world really was. It was beautiful, but it was also deadly. Anny watched the wind kick up a small cloud of dust and whirl it away. _Dry and windy, the metals count will be high today. Too bad. Patric wanted to get outside for a bit, but we can't let him out in conditions like this._

The planet Grayson was one of the most beautiful worlds yet discovered by humans, but the beauty hid a threat. There were toxic concentrations of heavy metals in virtually everything in the environment. Humans could only survive in controlled habitats and by wearing protective clothing when they went outdoors. Natives of the planet had adapted to a small degree and were less sensitive to the metals than others, but a visitor like Patric could only venture outdoors when the conditions were just right.

Anny sighed and turned away from the window to look at her bedroom. She had spent the first nine years of her life living in this room and this house, but it was not really her home anymore. It was not even her bedroom anymore. Her cousin Katie used this room now but she had kindly vacated it for the few days that Anny would be here. She really need not have bothered as far as Anny was concerned. Everything was different. The paint color had been changed, the carpet was different, the curtains, the pictures on the walls, and the furniture, too. Well, almost all the furniture. There was still the huge, old antique dresser. Anny looked at it fondly. She spotted the gash in the base that she and her sister had made while playing. They had lived in terror for a week that someone would find it and they would be punished. As far as Anny knew, none of the grownups had ever noticed.

The memory made Anny smile, but then she looked at the rest of the no longer familiar room and the smile faded.

_Maybe it would seem more like home if Father and my mothers and brother and sisters were here. It is nice seeing my aunts and uncles and cousins again, but they are almost like strangers. How can I be home and still be homesick?_

She sighed again and returned to what she had been doing before the sights out the window distracted her. Anny's Royal Navy uniform was lying on the bed next to a storage container. She picked up the tunic and detached the Survivor's Pin and the two ribbons on the chest. She held the ribbons in her hand and looked at them. One was red and gold and signified the Manticoran Conspicuous Gallantry Medal. The other was blue and silver and was for the Grayson Navy's equivalent, the Protector's Cross. Anny was very proud to have earned those medals - in spite of what they had cost her. She closed her eyes and she could see herself once more on the bridge of the wrecked Peep cruiser.

Helen was in danger. That was the only thing she could think of. There were no other options, so she had leaped over the control console and charged the Peeps who had her squad of marines pinned down. The low gravity had lent a nightmarish slow motion to the whole thing. Somehow she had reached the Peep position unharmed and jumped onto another console. She could still see the horrified expression on one of the Peeps' faces as her plasma carbine blew a hole through the Peep's middle. She was swinging her weapon towards another Peep, but the heavy carbine would not move fast enough. The other Peep had his pulse rifle pointed at her and she knew she would never make it.

The Peep fired - but there was nothing. The grav-coils of the weapon's mass driver made no flash and through her helmet she could hear no sound. There was not even any pain as the half-dozen darts tore completely through her chest. She could feel them pass through her, but it did not hurt at all. She was just falling away, dropping her carbine, and gently landing on the deck in the one-third gravity. As she fell, she could see the marines of her squad rushing past her to overrun the last of the Peeps.

And then Helen was there next to her. Helen looked far worse than Anny felt. There was blood trickling out of her mouth and blood on her arm which also seemed to have one too many elbows. Helen was shouting something at her and she was answering back, but she could not really remember what was said. There was a medic there, too, though she did not remember him arriving. And then he did something and Anny could not remember any more...

Anny opened her eyes and looked at the ribbons again. They were more precious than anything she owned. They were a reminder of that day. They had given her those medals because she had been brave and had saved her friend. But that was not why they were precious to Anny Payne. She would have done the same thing to save Helen even if no one would have ever known. No, they were important, because they were tangible proof that she had been an officer, leading her troops into combat.

And her troops had followed.

They had followed her, Andreanne Payne, a frightened girl from the planet Grayson, where women did not lead troops into battle. But Anny had led them and they had followed. And in that moment she knew she could really be what she had worked so hard to be: a naval officer.

For a long time at the Academy she had doubted that she could really do it. She had nearly quit on several occasions. She had drawn inspiration from Lady Harrington and stuck it out, but the doubts never left her. Until that day on the cruiser. She had shouted an order to charge and the people under her command had obeyed. They had followed her into the Peeps' guns without a moment's hesitation. She knew she still had a lot to learn, but she no longer doubted herself.

Anny put down the ribbons and carefully folded the uniform tunic. She placed it in the container along with the other uniforms and paraphernalia from her Royal Navy kit. Her officer's sword was now hanging over the fireplace in the great room of the house. She had left her cadet uniform with her parents back on Manticore and her cadet sword occupied a similar position there.

_They really are proud of me. I know they must have thought I was crazy at first, but they never tried to stop me once they realized I was serious._

When Anny had first concocted her idea of going to the Academy, she had been a little embarrassed and apologetic when around other Graysons. What she was doing was against every rule and tradition. Anny had not done it to be a social reformer, it was something she wanted to do for herself - and for her idol, Honor Harrington. Her family had been supportive enough, but other Graysons were either openly skeptical, or just shook their heads and smiled.

_What a change! Now they treat me like some sort of hero. Or at least some of them do. And dinner with the Steadholder tonight! I never expected anything like this. Face it kiddo, you were not thinking about any of the long-term effects of going to the Academy - just getting there was challenge enough!_

But she had gone to the Academy and gotten her commission and a few medals besides. Now what? She was an officer in the Royal Navy and she had sworn an oath of loyalty to Queen Elizabeth III. But she was still a Grayson citizen, and now she was being 'lent' to the navy of her home planet. The legal and moral issues were more complicated than Anny really wanted to think about. Did she ever want to return to the Royal Navy? Or should she stay here? For that matter, did she really want to spend the rest of her life in either navy? With the Prolong anti-aging treatments, she had at least a century of active service ahead of her - if that was what she wanted.

She had deep emotional ties to the Royal Navy and the people she had met there. They had accepted her and given her the chance to prove herself when her own world had not. That was something Anny could never repay - or forget. But her own world needed her, too. Like it or not, she _was_ a social reformer. She was setting an example just by being here and wearing a uniform. She had received letters from hundreds of women who cheered her on. Others were from women determined to follow her lead. How could she turn her back on them? Of course, she had also received a lot of letters from women and men who vehemently opposed what she was doing. She shook her head

.

Anny carefully closed the container and set it aside. _Will I ever need that kit again?_ She turned and walked to the closet. She opened the door and took out another uniform and laid it out on the bed. It was her Grayson Navy Uniform. It was sufficiently different from her Royal Navy uniform to make the sense of change and leaving something behind that much stronger.

The most notable difference was that it was blue instead of black. Anny was glad that the dinner tonight was not a mess-dress affair. The Grayson Navy mess-dress uniform was very different indeed: light blue coat - with functioning buttons, dark blue trousers, necktie and the stiff, high peaked, visored hat. The dress uniform she was laying out now was not quite such a change. Anny had read somewhere that Honor Harrington had just hated the Grayson Navy uniforms and she obviously had some input in the latest set of uniform regulations. The tunic and the trousers were the same shade of dark blue and the necktie had been replaced with a turtleneck blouse similar to what the Royal Navy wore, except this was light blue instead of white. The headgear was a soft service cap that was rather like what Grayson's baseball players wore, except with a more military style.

On the right shoulder of the tunic was a patch that identified her as a 'volunteer' from Manticore. Anny was happy for that little reminder. Picking up the tunic, she carefully attached the ribbons and pin she had taken off her old uniform, making certain that they were on straight. She was grateful that she was permitted to wear the Manticoran decorations on her Grayson uniform. Her eyes traveled down the sleeve of the coat and stopped on the wound stripe. She was allowed to have that, too. She took a deep breath. Sometimes it seemed like she could feel a tiny discomfort left from her wounds. Just now, however, there was nothing.

Her gaze continued to the end of the sleeve and stopped. Anny shuddered slightly. Two gold bands circled each cuff. They signified the rank of a senior grade lieutenant.

_Am I really ready for this?_

Officers graduating from the Royal Manticoran Naval Academy were commissioned as ensigns - usually. But Anny and Helen had done something very unusual: they had won decorations for gallantry on their 'prentice cruise. It was something unusual enough that the Academy had a special tradition: the two of them were bumped one rank at graduation and commissioned junior grade lieutenants. That was certainly a nice thing and Anny was grateful for it. Now, however, she had been lent to the Grayson Navy, and standard policy was to bump the transferring officers one rank as well. Anny felt very hesitant about that. It was not as though she was being given special treatment. She had earned both of those promotions, but nothing could alter the fact that she now had a rank that it would normally have taken her at least four or five years of active service to attain. And she did not have the five years of experience to back up that rank. Anny did not know what duty assignment she would receive when she reported aboard the _Alliance_ but it was quite possible there would be other officers, junior to her in rank, but far more experienced, placed under her command. How would they react? Would Anny be able to do her job and earn their respect? She had no doubts about her ability to be an officer, but to be a _lieutenant_, well...

_I worry too much. I should be happy to have this opportunity - I scarcely dared dream I would ever reach this point._

Anny pushed her anxieties away as she got out the rest of her new uniform. Once she really started thinking about what would be happening in a few days she began to get excited. For the last six T-years she had been focused on the formidable obstacles of getting to the Academy and then getting through the Academy and then recovering from her wounds. Somehow in the midst of all that, her original goal had become obscured.

_I'm really doing it! I've gotten my commission just like Lady Harrington did and now I'm going on active duty! I'll have a ship and shipmates and actually be doing a real job! Just the way Lady Harrington started out! It's not just some adolescent fantasy anymore, it's really happening! _ She shook her head. _Well, enough of this, I've got to get ready for today._

Anny started unbuttoning her bodice when there was a knock on the bedroom door.

"Come in," said Anny.

The door opened and Patric was standing there. He was wearing his own GSN uniform. Anny smiled.

"Well, if it isn't _Lieutenant j.g. _Patric McDermott! Do come in, sir!" said Anny, making a sweeping bow.

"Thank you, My Lady," replied Patric, bowing in turn. "Your dress is unbuttoned," he said as he straightened up.

"Heavens! So it is! But I suppose it is all right for my "male protector" to see a little bit of what he's supposed to be protecting."

"I've seen a lot more than that when you put your skinsuit on," laughed Patric.

"And I've seen even more than that of you, wise guy!"

They both laughed as they recalled an embarrassing incident during their first form at the Academy.

"I thought you'd be dressed by now," said Patric.

"Oh, I was putting some things away and I ended up staring out the window for a while, too. It feels so strange to be here again after so long."

Patric crossed over to the window and looked out. "Your uncle told me that the metals count is too high today for me to go out with just a mask. I would need a full environmental suit and there's not much point in going outside wearing one of those."

"I'm sorry, Patric. I'm sure there will be other opportunities."

"I hope so. Not being able to go outside is really making me claustrophobic."

"After all those months in a spaceship?" said Anny in surprise. "If you can stand that, this should not be so bad."

"Not the same thing," said Patric. "In a spaceship there is no reason to _want_ to go outside. Here, I can see all that beauty, but I can't touch it. It's a cruel temptation."

Anny looked at him with a sly smile. "I would think you would be used to resisting cruel temptations by now, Mr. McDermott," she said, unfastening another button and taking a pose her mothers had once taught her.

Patric glared at her under his eyebrows. "Don't do that, Anny, you might come to regret it."

Anny just laughed. "Don't try and frighten me, Mr. McDermott, I know you too well. I'd be perfectly safe if I was standing here stark naked."

"Y'know, your sister Abigail warned me about you," he said.

"She did, did she? Remind me to have her flogged when we get back to Manticore!"

Patric's expression darkened and he looked down at the floor. "_If _we get back to Manticore."

All the mischief left Anny's face. She stared at Patric for a moment and then came over until she was very close to him. She put her hands lightly on his chest and looked up into his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Patric. I know this isn't what you wanted," she said in a quiet voice. "I should have turned down the transfer. Then we both could have stayed in the Royal Navy where we belong."

"You belong here, Anny. This is your world and your people."

"But not yours. And it's hardly even mine anymore. I feel like a stranger here."

"You'll get used to it again quick enough, I imagine," said Patric. "Quicker than I will, anyway. And what you are doing is important, Anny, you are making a difference. Changes are happening already because of you."

Anny snorted. "What? Do you mean that ridiculous "Woman's Auxiliary Corps" they've started? Wives of some of the officers wearing cute little uniforms - with skirts -being allowed to file and type and get coffee for the men! Not exactly what I'd call progress."

Patric chuckled. "I thought you weren't trying to be a reformer: you sure sound like one." Anny gave him a sour look and punched him lightly in the ribs. "And it might not be much, but it's a start," he continued. "No matter how menial it may seem, there are Grayson women in uniform, working with the military. As the men see how useful they are, they will be given more and more responsibility."

"Now you are the one who sounds like a reformer," smirked Anny.

"I've been reading up a bit on the subject. Typically, in times of crisis, there are gains made for equal rights. After the crisis is past there is usually backsliding, but not all the way back to what it was before."

"Reading up on social reform? Why would you do that?"

"Well, I am the "male protector" of the leading social reformer on Grayson after all." said Patric with a grin, "and I should...umf!" Anny punched him in the ribs again, but not so lightly this time. She punched him several more times until he caught her hands in his. She did not try to get loose. Her look of mock-anger faded and she stared intently into his eyes.

"I love you, Patric. Sweet Tester, I do love you so."

He let go of her hands and wrapped his huge arms around her. Anny snuggled up against his broad chest and put her arms around his waist.

"I love you, too, Anny."

They stayed like that for a long time. Eventually Anny stirred.

"What are we going to do?"

Patric sighed. "Well, in the short term we are going to do our duty and serve faithfully aboard _GNS Alliance_. In the long term, who knows? The war can't last forever. When peace comes they will probably demobilize a fair portion of the fleets. We might end up on the beach, in the reserves, or some desk job. Then...I don't know. Maybe we could get married or something."

Anny looked at him sharply. It was the first time either of them had dared mention marriage.

"I'd like that, Patric, the married part, I mean."

"Good! That makes it unanimous. It would have been awkward if only one of us wanted to get married - because I intend to marry you, girl."

Anny did not say anything, she just snuggled closer. She could have stayed like that the rest of the day, but they had responsibilities - they always seemed to have responsibilities.

_When will there be time for us?_

Reluctantly she pulled away. "Well, I guess I better get ready for this. Will you excuse me, sir, so I can get dressed?" she said, motioning towards the door.

"What for?" said Patric with a grin.

"Get out of here you big lunk!" Anny grabbed a pillow off the bed, but Patric moved with surprising speed and was out the door before she could throw it.

**Chapter Two**

**P**atric McDermott tried not to look nervous as he and Anny walked toward the Grayson Admiralty Building. It was a huge metal and glass structure that rose nearly up to the soaring dome that covered the whole Navy headquarters complex. The building and the dome were relatively new - more changes forced by the huge expansion of Grayson's fleet. The pair walked up the steps to the main entry doors and there seemed to be hundreds of eyes watching them.

_They have certainly seen women from other Alliance navies before, why so much fuss over us?_

Patric knew the answer perfectly well. Everyone knew exactly who the pretty, brown-haired Lieutenant with the towering companion was. She was not just some other woman officer lent from an Alliance navy; she was one of Grayson's own. A heroic pioneer in some eyes, a tradition-threatening troublemaker in others. No matter what the dozens of people around them might have thought, they all knew they were seeing something special.

He avoided eye contact with the people around them until he noticed that Anny was boldly staring right back at them. Most of the people looked away and pretended to go back about their business when her sharp green eyes fell on them. Others continued to stare and not all the expressions were friendly - or even just curious. Patric was relieved when they reached the doors and entered the building's lobby. They walked across it, with only a few stares following them, until they reached the security desk.

"May I help you?" asked the man sitting behind it.

"Lieutenants Payne and McDermott to see High Admiral Matthews," said Anny. She said it evenly, but Patric knew she was nearly as nervous as he was. The man's eyebrows shot up and he seemed impressed. He checked his terminal and eventually discovered that indeed there were two lieutenants scheduled to see the High Admiral, but he was not satisfied with just their word on who they were.

"Please put your hand on the identification scanner," he said, directing them to a flat plate on the front of the desk. They did as he requested and a sophisticated set of scanners analyzed their palmprints and dismantled the DNA in some skin cells to verify their identities. It only took a few moments. Two thin cards popped out of his terminal and he handed one to each of them.

"Very good. Everything checks out, Lieutenant." His eyes kept flicking between the two of them so Patric was not sure who he was addressing. Anny was the senior so he should have been talking to her. Perhaps he did not know himself.

"These are your security passes. If you'll look on the back you will see the directions to your destination with your location indicated. Please do not deviate from the indicated path. If you do a beeper will warn you. If you continue off the proper path, security will be notified. Please keep the pass with you at all times. Any persons without passes will be picked up by the building sensors and security will be summoned. Please return the passes to this desk when you leave." The tone of the man's voice indicated that this was a standard set of instructions that he gave out hundreds of times each day.

"Thank you," said Anny, and they walked around the desk toward the bank of lifts. The pass instructed them to go to one of the upper floors and the lift whisked them there in just a few seconds. There was another lobby and another security check before they were allowed to enter the outer office of High Admiral Matthews.

Sitting at the reception desk was a young woman wearing the uniform of the new Grayson Women's Auxiliary Corps. The uniform was similar to what Patric and Anny were wearing, but included a knee-length skirt over the trousers. The woman looked up with great interest as the pair entered.

"Lieutenant Payne, Lieutenant McDermott, I was just notified that you were on the way up. The High Admiral is on the com but he will be with you in a few minutes. Please have a seat." Her tone was businesslike, but she stared at Anny with a strange intensity.

They sat down on a comfortable sofa, but Patric did not feel at all comfortable.

_Seeing admirals again! I'm not cut out for hob-nobbing with all this brass. Things would sure be simpler if I had fallen in love with someone else - or not fallen in love at all!_

But Patric had fallen in love. He had fallen in love with Anny Payne from the first moment he saw her back in the dorm on Saganami Island. He had tried to deny it and then to ignore it, but he could not. Aside from being beautiful, Anny was smart and funny and talented and a dozen other things that attracted Patric. She had helped tutor Patric when he was having trouble in his first form. Then they made him Anny's 'male protector' to satisfy the Graysons' strange sense of propriety. He had spent a lot of time in her company, and finally he could not hide his feelings any longer.

To his amazement, Anny returned his affection and ultimately his love. So far their relationship had been platonic, but he did not know how much longer that could go on. He wanted to marry her, she wanted to marry him, and he knew that Anny's family was taking it as a foregone conclusion that they would. But their duty was not going to allow marriage anytime in the foreseeable future and they both knew it.

Like it or not, Anny was a symbol. She was living proof that the women of Grayson could serve in the military and do the same job as a man. The heads of the Grayson government and the military wanted to use Anny to break the barrier that was keeping three-quarters of Grayson's population out of uniform. To do that, she had to perform her duty as an officer well and not fall prey to any of the womanly 'weaknesses' that the Opposition would jump upon to bolster their own argument.

Unfortunately, marriage was one of those "weaknesses". While it was common enough for members of the Royal Navy to get married to each other and for both partners to continue on active service, it just would not work in the Grayson Navy - at least not yet. Even those who supported the reforms clung to the notion that married women belonged in the home to raise children. If Anny and Patric were to marry, there would be a demand for Anny to be withdrawn from shipboard duty. The Opposition could then point out that there was no use in training women for combat duty if they were just going to get married and have to be replaced anyway.

Anny's father, the Grayson ambassador to Manticore, had explained all of this to Patric. Patric liked Anny's father and he seemed to like him. Patric got the impression that Anny's parents would have preferred that the two of them just get married and accept shore duty. But the Powers-That-Be needed Anny on shipboard and that precluded marriage.

It also meant that Anny would be sent in Harm's Way.

Patric looked down at the red Wound Stripe on Anny's sleeve and shuddered. His thoughts went back to that horrible day, almost a year ago. They were on their 'prentice cruise and Patric, Anny, Helen. and Alby were in the auxiliary control room of the heavy cruiser _HMS Relentless_. They had gotten into a one-on-one duel with an enemy cruiser that had left both ships drifting wrecks with two-thirds of their crews dead or injured. It would be hours before help could arrive and the only option left to ensure that the enemy could do them no further harm was to board and capture them. Helen volunteered to lead the boarding party. But they needed another officer and Anny was the only logical choice. All the other officers in auxiliary control were doing vital jobs - including Patric - but Anny was on the helm and the crippled ship did not need a helmsman. Anny knew it and volunteered. Patric tried to go instead, but he was overruled by the skipper.

The feeling of utter helplessness that had filled Patric as he watched Anny get ready to leave, and the endless wait for news from the boarding party, was worse than anything he had ever experienced.

Except for the feeling after he found out Anny had been hurt.

Friendly ships were arriving to assist them and a pinnace had been dispatched to the enemy cruiser to help out the boarding party. Direct communications had been lost about an hour earlier and the next message was that the pinnace was bringing back casualties. When they got the word that both Anny and Helen had been hurt, Patric had nearly lost his mind. 'Worry' did not begin to describe his feelings, but he was doing vital duty at Damage Control and had to force himself to keep doing it. The fact that Anny and Helen had been taken directly to another ship and it was many more hours before Patric was evacuated added to his distress.

Then it was nearly a day before he could get to the ship where Anny was being treated. And then more days before he could get any real information on her condition. Helen was not as badly hurt but the information she could give him only made him worry more. He pleaded with the doctors to be allowed to see Anny, but was refused. He wept into the pillow of his bunk, night after night. It had taken the direct intervention of Admiral Thayer, who had come to see Helen, to get Patric into Anny's room. Seeing her pale, unconscious form, encased in all manner of medical equipment, had almost been worse than the uncertainty - _but she was alive!_

Patric's thoughts returned to the present and he realized that he was clenching his fists. He could not bear the thought of Anny being hurt again - or killed. He consoled himself with the knowledge that they would be assigned to the newest and most powerful ship in Grayson's navy. If she would be safe anywhere, it should be there.

A motion caught his eye and he looked up to see the receptionist coming toward them from around her desk. She had a nervous, furtive look on her face. She walked up to Anny.

"Lieutenant Payne," she said in a quiet voice, "I just want to let you know how grateful I am for what you've done. You are doing the right thing and don't let anyone tell you otherwise. There are thousands - millions - of us rooting for you. May the Tester watch over you and guide your footsteps. And you, too, Lieutenant McDermott."

Anny and Patric exchanged surprised glances, but before either of them could think of anything to say in reply there was a faint beep from the woman's desk and she dashed back to it and sat down. After a moment she looked up at them.

"High Admiral Matthews will see you now," she said as if nothing else had just happened. "Please come this way." She got up again and ushered them through a set of doors into the Admiral's inner office.

Patric and Anny had met Admiral Wesley Matthews briefly at a reception following their graduation from the Academy. Patric recognized the man sitting behind the desk, but he had never met the other officer in the room, a man in the uniform of a captain.

Both the men got to their feet when Anny and Patric entered. It was hardly the usual thing for a fleet admiral and a captain to rise at the approach of a pair of lieutenants, but Anny's unusual status as a lieutenant and _a woman_ was as confusing to Grayson's social courtesies as it was to military protocol.

"Ah, Lieutenant Payne, Lieutenant McDermott, it is good to see you again," said Admiral Matthews. Anny and Patric halted and saluted the Admiral. Patric was happy that he remembered to salute with his palm down in the Grayson fashion, rather than the palm-out position of the Royal Navy. Matthews returned their salute.

"Reporting as ordered, sir," said Anny.

"Yes, of course," said Matthews. "I'd like you two to meet Captain Abiel Christopher, commanding officer of _Alliance."_

Patric had been nervous enough before, but being brought face to face with his new skipper without any warning was almost too much. He just stared at the captain with wide eyes.

Captain Christopher stared back. He was much shorter than Patric, but fairly tall for a Grayson. He seemed young for such an important command, but he had a competent, no-nonsense look to him that Patric found reassuring. He ran his sharp gaze over the two lieutenants standing in front of him and then offered his hand to Anny.

"I'm pleased to meet you Lieutenant Payne, I've heard a lot about you." Anny shook his hand and only looked about half as nervous as Patric felt. Christopher turned and greeted Patric and shook hands firmly. Both Patric and Anny mumbled out a stammering reply.

"Well, let's make ourselves comfortable; we have a lot to talk about," said Admiral Matthews, directing them to some over-stuffed chairs arranged around a low table. There was a coffee maker in an alcove and as the junior, Patric found himself serving coffee to the rest of them. He managed not to spill it on anyone. Finally they were all seated and the Admiral got down to business.

"Tomorrow the two of you will be reporting aboard _Alliance. _I wanted to have a few words with you before that happened - and allow you to meet your skipper. Lieutenant Payne, I don't need to tell you that a lot of people are going to be closely watching your actions now that you are in Grayson uniform."

"No, sir," said Anny.

"It is going to be a H... a real burden on you. I don't envy you a bit. I wish we could do something to make it easier on you, but instead we are going to make it even harder, I'm afraid."

"Sir?"

"Lieutenant, you have already shaken things up pretty badly around here. We intend for you to shake them up even more."

Patric stole a glance at Anny. She was sitting very erect on the edge of her chair - just as Patric was - but her face revealed nothing.

"The debate over what you are doing is hotter than anything that has happened since Lady Harrington was made a steadholder," continued the Admiral. "There are a lot of people on both sides of the argument. Most of them are just talking, but some people are doing more than just talk. I'm sure you have heard about the Grayson Women's Auxiliary Corps - that's my niece out in the other room, by the way. You may not have heard that no fewer than ten women have made formal applications to Grayson's naval academy and several more to the Manticoran academy. The Grayson applications have been rejected, of course. That's still the law, I'm afraid, but there are rumors that at least a few of those women are planning to challenge it in court. I hope they do. On the other side, there have been demands that the constitution be amended to prohibit any Grayson woman from serving in any military."

Anny's face creased in a frown.

"I don't think there is any chance of it happening," said Matthews quickly when he saw Anny's expression, "but that gives you an idea of how strongly people on both sides of the issue feel.

"I won't deny that my own feelings are still a bit mixed, Lieutenant. Lady Harrington and the other women in the Alliance navies have certainly proven that women _can_ do the same job as a man in combat. In Lady Harrington's case I'd be tempted to say 'better' than any man I've met. And now you have come along and shown that Grayson women can do it, too."

Patric saw that Anny was blushing. She idolized Lady Harrington and it always made her uncomfortable to be compared to her hero.

"But 'can' is different from 'should,'" continued the Admiral. "The idea of our women coming home from war in body bags goes against the grain of every Grayson tradition. It troubles me sometimes, but then I'm a bit old fashioned. Fortunately, Captain Christopher here, is more progressive than I am."

The man who would have absolute authority over their lives starting tomorrow morning gave a small chuckle but his face quickly became serious again.

"I suppose I am, Admiral. I was a lieutenant aboard _Terrible_ during Fourth Yeltsin. I saw what Admiral Harrington did that day and I've been a believer ever since. I've served with other women from the Alliance and I have the highest respect for their abilities. I think that the men from Grayson who have an open mind are actually inspired to give a little bit extra when there are women fighting alongside them. These days, some of us are even a little embarrassed about the fact that none of our own women are there with us."

"And now you come along, Lieutenant Payne," repeated Admiral Matthews. "You not only make it through one of the toughest and finest naval academies in the galaxy, but you manage to become a hero in the process."

Anny was blushing again, but Patric looked with pride at the ribbons on her chest that proved every word was true.

"You are a tremendous asset, Lieutenant, and we intend to make full use of you. By that I mean we are going to push you and push you hard. You have done extremely well so far, but many people wonder if that is just a fluke. Will you be able to maintain that high standard during months and years of active service? I have no doubt that you can, but we have to prove it. We intend to advance you into positions of greater and greater responsibility. Unfortunately, we cannot do anything that would smack of favoritism or special treatment. We can give you the opportunities, but you are going to have to earn what you receive."

"I'll do my best, Admiral," said Anny, who looked a little pale.

"I know you will, and I have every confidence that you will do an outstanding job," said Matthews. The Admiral looked at Anny intensely for a few moments. "I know we are asking an awful lot of you, Lieutenant, and it is hardly fair of us to do so. But the stakes are high and you can do a service for your world and your people that no one else can.

"However," continued the Admiral with a slight smile, "we are not going to throw you to the lions just yet. To give you a chance to get your footing, we are starting you out in an assignment that you have already proven you can do. Aboard _Alliance _you will be the helmsman in Auxiliary Control."

Patric glanced at Anny and saw that she had an expression of relief on her face.

"I've never piloted a superdreadnought before, Admiral, but I think I can handle that," said Anny with a growing smile.

"Good! But don't expect to stay there long. Captain Christopher will get you onto the main bridge as soon as he can justify it and then after that, well, we'll see."

Anny nodded her head and there were a few seconds of silence. Then Admiral Matthews turned to Patric.

"Lieutenant McDermott, I'm not forgetting you either. I know you have just completed advanced training in Damage Control and we can certainly make use of you in Auxiliary Control as well."

That made Patric smile, too. It was something he was comfortable with and it would keep him close to Anny.

"Naturally, you will continue to be Lieutenant Payne's 'male protector'. Someday, perhaps, we'll be able to dispense with the necessity for that, but for the moment you still have the job."

Admiral Matthews paused and looked at Anny and Patric with a slightly embarrassed expression.

"Ambassador Payne has informed me that you have carried out your duties as 'male protector' to his complete satisfaction, Lieutenant McDermott. I don't have to...uh... remind you of the importance of your continued...ur...exemplary performance, do I?"

"No, sir, I understand the situation," said Patric.

_Great. Just great. Now I've promised two admirals and an ambassador that I won't fool around with Anny Payne. If we ever do managed to get married I'm going to need written permission from God to touch her on our wedding night!_

"Good!" said Matthews with a relieved expression. He took a sip of his coffee and his face became serious again.

"There is one other issue that I want to discuss with you two - actually, with all three of you," Matthews nodded his head towards Captain Christopher. "This is something of a sensitive political nature and I don't want this mentioned beyond this office."

"Yes, sir," said all three officers in unison. Patric wondered what he was getting himself into now.

"This is a bit awkward to talk about," began the Admiral. "It has to do with the make-up of our Fleet personnel. Back before the war, the Grayson Navy was small, tiny by Manticoran standards, although it was the biggest we could manage at the time. The officers and men were long-term professional spacers. We were as apolitical a group as you would be likely to find on Grayson. We did our duty to the government and people of Grayson and stayed away from politics.

"Since the alliance with Manticore, the Fleet has expanded enormously and we have several hundred times the personnel we did back then. A lot of our new people are here for the war, but don't intend to make the Navy a career. There's nothing wrong with that, of course, but the old-time professionals have been largely swallowed up by this influx. The motivation of the new people is mostly above reproach. They are here out of patriotism and a desire to serve - and I might add that the example of Lady Harrington has inspired more than a few.

"But there are some who may be here for other reasons," continued Matthews. "As I said, before the war, the Fleet ignored politics, and for the most part, the politics of Grayson ignored the Fleet. Even though our ships - primitive though they were - held enough destructive power to destroy the planet, the Navy was here to protect us from the Masadan threat and nothing else. Neither the Protector nor the Conclave of Steadholders had any special influence over the Fleet, beyond the authority given by the Constitution.

"When the great expansion of the Fleet began, that started to change. For the first five or six years, the steadholders paid little more attention to the Navy than they had in the past. It was the Protector, and to a very real extent Lady Harrington, who were the patrons of the Fleet. A few years ago the steadholders began to wake up to the fact that Grayson now had a first class navy and they had very little influence with it. Some of them began to worry that the Fleet could become an instrument of tyranny."

Admiral Matthews leaned back in his chair and sighed. "I'm not a politician even though I deal with them every day. The thought that the Navy might be used in such a fashion sickens me and as long as I hold the position I do, it will never happen. Nevertheless, the fact remains that the Navy represents enormous power. The marine detachment on a single superdreadnought could defeat all the forces that any individual steadholder could command. That worries a lot of the steadholders - and not just those that oppose Protector Mayhew's reforms.

"Their response has been to try and get some of their own people into positions of authority within the Navy. Since they got such a late start, they can't really touch the upper ranks. Even with the greatest political influence, a steadholder cannot have some inexperienced person appointed an admiral. At least not yet, thank God. What they have been doing is to try to outflank the Admiralty from top and bottom, so to speak. They have used their political power to get a number of people into powerful positions within the Navy's civilian overseers. That really is of no concern to you three. The other prong of their activity does concern you.

"Over the last few years we have seen a growing number of recruits coming from the personal retinues of a number of steadholders. As you know, or perhaps you don't know, Lieutenant McDermott, the number of armsmen a steadholder may have is strictly regulated by law. Armsmen are sworn to the service of their steadholders and that supersedes any other loyalty. What we are seeing is the steadholders sending their own armsmen off to the fleet - and then recruiting new armsmen to replace them. In addition to the armsmen, we are seeing the sons of steadholders, or people close to steadholders, coming to the naval academy or going through the junior officers training courses.

"Most of these young officers are still at low ranks, but the steadholders are using their influence to see that they get promoted rapidly. I imagine that such a thing is quite familiar to you, Lieutenant, but it is a new phenomenon in the Grayson Navy."

The Admiral's last remark was directed at Patric. Patric nodded his head. Favoritism and influence were the way things had always been done in the Royal Navy. The sons and daughters of the Peerage always advanced faster through the ranks and got the plum positions. Without at least a patron, commoners had a very hard time reaching the upper ranks, no matter how skilled they might be. It might not be fair, but that was just the way things worked. That was one reason why Patric had thought nothing unusual about the Admiral's plan to advance Anny rapidly.

"Captain Christopher, I can see that you are not happy with what I've been saying here," said Matthews. Patric looked at his captain and saw the scowl on his face.

"No, sir, I'm not. I was only a wet-behind-the-ears ensign when the war started, but I consider myself part of that professional corps that you described earlier. To think that there might be men aboard my ship who have a loyalty to something other than their ship or their shipmates or the Navy bothers me a lot."

"I don't blame you, Captain, I don't like it either. Obviously, the reason I am telling you this is because I am afraid that there might be some deliberate action to sabotage the career of Lieutenant Payne. I sincerely hope that I am overstating the case here. I am hoping - praying - that none of these people would be capable of any overt act because of some misguided loyalty. But unfortunately, we have to accept the fact that this is a possibility. We need look no farther than the actions of William Fitzclarence against Lady Harrington to see the depths to which some fanatics might stoop."

Patric saw all three of the Graysons bow their heads slightly. Even he had heard of the terrible incident five or six years earlier where nearly two hundred people - many of them children - had been murdered in an attempt to first discredit, and then later to kill, Honor Harrington.

_Great. Truly great. Enemies front and rear! Admiral Thayer warned us three years ago that there could be a danger. There was no way any Grayson could get at Anny while she was at the Academy or in the RMN, but now! Anny, why didn't you just tell me to get lost when I told you I love you?_

"Yes, Admiral, I can see your concern," said Captain Christopher after a moment. "And now I share it, too. What can we do about it?"

"Not a great deal, I'm afraid," replied the Admiral. "I've had Naval Intelligence run a check on all of your personnel. There is no one that stands out as suspicious. Several of your junior officers have family ties with some of the steadholders, but they don't fit the profile of someone likely to make trouble. None of the others are former armsmen as far as we've been able to determine. However, there are people from all eighty steadings among your crew, Captain, so the potential is there. I'll send you a copy of the ONI report, but the only advice I can give you is to just keep your eyes open and be on your guard.

"That would be good advice for the two of you, as well," said Matthews, looking at Patric and Anny.

"Yes, sir," said Anny. Patric glanced at her. Anny looked as upset as he felt. _This is ridiculous! We've got a war to fight against the Peeps; we shouldn't have to worry about someone on our own side stabbing us in the back!_

Admiral Matthews seemed to be reading the thoughts of the young people sitting in front of him. "I know this is not fair to you two. You have enough to worry about without this added in. I debated with myself a long time before I decided to tell you. I decided that 'Forewarned is forearmed' as the saying goes and you are better off knowing than not knowing. I hope to God that I'm worrying for nothing."

**Chapter Three**

"**S**hip's Company, atten - shun!" The voice of Commander Michael Brock, executive officer of _GNS_ _Alliance_, was carried to every corner of Boat Bay One by the ship's public address system. Lieutenant Andreanne Payne snapped to attention along with the four thousand other people packed into the space. By moving out all of the small craft, it was possible - just barely - to fit the entire crew of the ship into this one huge compartment. While the number of people present seemed enormous, _Alliance_ had a crew only two-thirds the size of a Royal Navy ship of a comparable class. The percentage of those people who were officers was even lower. Anny was standing near the front of the formation with the slightly less than four hundred officers who were needed to run the ship.

Anny and Patric had come aboard about three hours earlier through one of the other boat bays. It had been a madhouse. There was a skeleton crew of around a thousand engineering personnel already on board, but the other three thousand had all arrived this morning. At the same time, nearly an equal number of yard dogs and other construction people had to be removed. If _Alliance _had been built in one of Manticore's shipyards, it would not have been a problem. There would have been a huge space station on the other end of a few dozen boarding tubes and the people could have just come aboard or left without a fuss. Unfortunately, the Graysons built their ships differently. _Alliance_ was floating in empty space a million kilometers from anywhere with nothing but a light framework of open girders and a few pressurized construction modules around her. The only way on or off was via small craft. Add in the fact that Boat Bay One was not available because it was being prepared for this ceremony, and you had a recipe for chaos.

Anny and Patric's crowded shuttle had to wait for nearly an hour before it was allowed to dock. And this was after a three hour flight out to the Blackbird Yards from Grayson. Tempers were getting a bit short by the time they were allowed aboard - only to have to stand in long lines to be checked off against the ship's muster roll. They were just glad that being officers, most of their gear was being shipped up as cargo and they only had to carry a small bag.

By the time they got through all the red tape, they only had thirty minutes to find their quarters, dump their bags and hurry to Boat Bay One for the ceremony. Anny was still a little out of breath.

After the Commander's call to attention, complete silence filled the bay. Anny could see him step back and Captain Christopher come to the front of a raised platform at one end of the compartment. He had a piece of paper in his hands from which he proceeded to read aloud.

"From Admiral Winfield Halleck, GSN, to Captain Abiel Christopher, January 21, 1917 P.D. Sir: Upon receipt of this order you shall proceed aboard _GNS_ _Alliance_, SD-34, and place the vessel in commission. You shall assume all the powers and responsibilities of commanding officer as outlined in the Navy Regulations. By order of High Admiral Wesley Matthews, Commander, Grayson Space Navy."

Anny knew that the Royal Navy's language in such circumstances was a lot more pompous than the straightforward message Captain Christopher had just read, but the meaning was the same for both: Captain Christopher was now the lord and master of this ship and everyone in it. She wondered how many of the listening throng noticed the fact that Christopher's orders had come directly from Admiral Matthews instead of the head of the Personnel Bureau.

"At ease," said their captain as he put the paper away. There was a bit of noise as people shifted their feet slightly, but then the silence returned.

"Officers and...crew of the _GNS Alliance, _I bid you welcome." Anny held back a grin - the Captain had been about to say: "men", when he remembered there were more than just men aboard his ship. Anny was one of a dozen women loaned from Alliance navies on board.

"We have quite a job before us, people," continued Christopher. "This is a new ship with a new crew. A lot of you are veterans, but for more than a few of you, this is your first assignment. Old timers and newbies alike, we must work to become a team. This is a fine ship and she deserves a crew to match. I have full confidence that we shall become that crew. In a few hours we shall start the job of putting the ship into commission. The Admiralty has given us two months."

There was a stir among some of the crew. Anny had never put a ship into commission before, so she was only vaguely aware of what it entailed. Some of the people around her seemed to have a better idea.

"That is not a lot of time for a ship this size," said Christopher, confirming Anny's suspicion. "But the builders have done a great job on her and they will be working alongside us to see that the last of the glitches are ironed out. It will be a lot of work but I'll remind you that our comrades out on the line are depending on us. _Alliance_ represents a lot of firepower and the sooner we can get out there and join them, the sooner this war will be over."

There was no sound from the assembled crew, but Anny could almost feel a sense of pride and determination radiating from the people around her. It felt good, very good. _I have a real job to do! I'm not just getting ready to do a job anymore, this is the real thing!_

"Now I'd like to let our ship's chaplain, Father Kelly, say a few words." Captain Christopher stepped aside and a man dressed in a Navy chaplain's uniform came forward. Anny was slightly startled; the Royal Navy did not have official chaplains, and Anny had almost forgotten that the Grayson Navy did. The man seemed quite young for his post, but even from where she stood, Anny could see the intense look on his face.

"Let us pray," he said, removing his cap. Anny took off her own cap, as did everyone else in the compartment. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Patric take his cap off and bow his head.

"Almighty God, bless this ship and all who sail aboard her. Guide her safely through the boundless void to her appointed destinations. Give her crew the strength and resolve to pass the tests that they shall meet during their journey and in the battles that await them. Shield them from harm and crown their endeavors with victory in a just cause. We ask this humbly, in Thy name, Heavenly Father, Amen."

"Amen," murmured several thousand voices around Anny. She put her cap back on and looked up. Captain Christopher stepped back to the front of the platform.

"Thank you, Father Kelly," he said. "Very well, people, I won't keep you here any longer. We have a lot to do and not much time to do it. In approximately one hour we will be leaving the building slip and proceeding to Blackbird Orbital Station Four. There we will take on fuel, provisions, other supplies - and munitions. After that we can start putting this grand lady through her paces!"

There was a moment of silence that was suddenly broken by a shout from somewhere behind Anny.

"Let's hear it for Captain Christopher and the _Alliance!"_

On the rare occasions that a Royal Navy crew would give a cheer it was always a stately and dignified "Three Cheers". Sometimes, if they were feeling particularly frisky, they would throw in a 'Tiger' at the end. The Graysons did it somewhat differently. A wild, banshee yell burst out from the assembled crew. It howled and warbled and hooted throughout the boat bay. Some of the people took off their caps and started waving them, and before long almost everyone was doing so.

Anny was a bit startled at first, but the sound brought back memories of baseball games she had seen as a child. She glanced at Patric who seemed rather surprised as well. He met her gaze and then they were both smiling. They took off their caps and waved them in the air and whooped right along with their crewmates.

[Scene Break]

"Stand by to get under way," said Captain Christopher.

"Aye, aye, sir, standing by," replied Lieutenant Mark Rutledge, the ship's helmsman.

Anny sat at the helm station in Auxiliary Control and watched the main bridge crew prepare to take _Alliance_ on her first voyage. That she was able to watch was an indicator of just how different _Alliance's_ Auxiliary Control was from the last one she had been in aboard _HMS Relentless_. The AuxCon on _Relentless_ had been added to the ship during a refit. It was as small and cramped as it could possibly be and still do the job. The Auxiliary Control of _Alliance_, by comparison, would have made even the main bridge of the old cruiser look small.

The purpose of any auxiliary control room was to provide a backup for the main bridge in case battle damage put it out of action. It was a sensible precaution: a superdreadnought like _Alliance_ massed over eight million tons and was enormously powerful. To have her put out of action because of a single hit to the bridge would be a terrible waste.

For Auxiliary Control to do its job, it had to be able to duplicate all the vital functions of the main bridge, and the people crewing it had to be able to take over control instantly if necessary. AuxCon on _Relentless_ had duplicate command stations for all the vital functions, but the only link to what was happening on the main bridge was the read-outs from the instruments. Unless the captain contacted them directly, the people crewing the auxiliary control had no way of knowing what the captain was planning or even what was really happening on the bridge. This had nearly caused disaster on _Relentless._ The main bridge had been put out of action, but vital seconds ticked away before the people in Auxiliary Control realized it.

The same thing was not likely to happen on _Alliance_. Auxiliary Control was arranged with the command stations in a half-circle. The commander sat at the base of the circle and the other stations curved away to the right and left. The main displays were at the opposite side of the compartment, where everyone could see them. This created a sizable space in the middle that was about a meter below the level of the deck. Anny stared intently at what was happening in that space.

In front of her was what appeared to be the Main Bridge of the ship. It was actually a holo-projection of the bridge at about two-thirds real size. It was cleverly arranged so that each person in Auxiliary Control was able to 'look over the shoulder' of their counterpart on the bridge. In a further bit of cleverness, while the control stations seemed as solid and real as the one Anny was sitting at, the people manning them were transparent enough that Anny could see through them to observe what her counterpart was actually doing. There was also a full sound hook-up, so they could hear the Captain's commands as if they were right there on the main bridge. The arrangement would allow the people in Auxiliary Control to see and hear exactly what was going on at all times and be prepared to take over in an emergency. Anny thought the whole arrangement was excellent except she wondered if the display would show _everything_ that happened if the bridge really did take a hit. That thought was a little chilling.

"All construction gantries detached and retracted, sir," reported the Com Officer.

Anny checked her own board and saw that all that was connecting _Alliance_ to the structure around her were half a hundred mooring lines.

"Very well," said Christopher. "Helm, stand bye on thrusters." Anny saw her captain take a deep breath. "Cast off all moorings."

Rutledge touched a control on his board. "Aye, aye, sir, moorings detached." He checked the readouts and then reported, "Ship is at rest, sir."

Anny checked her own readouts and saw that Lieutenant Rutledge's report was not quite accurate. When the moorings were cast off, they imparted a tiny vector and the ship was drifting slightly up and aft at about half a centimeter per second. Actually, it was probably the far less massive building slip that was drifting down and forward, but in any case, if left unattended, the ship and the building slip would gently bump in about four hours time. For all practical purposes, the ship was at rest as the Lieutenant had reported. And it hardly mattered, since they would not be hanging around for four more minutes, let alone four hours.

"Thrusters ahead at zero-point-one gees, Mr. Rutledge," said Christopher. "Take us to space."

"Aye, aye, sir!" said the helmsman. From Anny's seat she could not see Mark Rutledge's grin, but she could clearly hear it in his voice. "Thrusters ahead at one meter per second squared."

There was not the slightest feeling of acceleration or movement, but Anny's instrument display showed that _GNS Alliance_ was moving forward under her own power. Anny had not done a single thing to help in the ship's construction and had not really done anything yet as a crew member, but she felt a wonderful thrill of pride and satisfaction as the huge vessel set out for the first time. She looked over at Patric, who was manning the Damage Control station, and they exchanged smiles. Patric gave her a quick 'thumbs up' sign.

Seconds passed and every eye was glued to control readouts and viewscreens.

"Velocity twenty meters per second, course is nominal," reported the helmsman. The ship had moved forward two hundred meters and her bow was emerging from the construction slip. She was gaining speed with every second. Less than two minutes later, she was well clear of the slip. Anny could see the strangely empty structure shrinking in the aft view on her monitor.

"Message from Mr. Ericsson on CS-Four-Seven, sir," said Lieutenant Vandergrift at the communications station.

"Put it through."

One of the monitors lit up with the face of the construction manager who had overseen the building of _Alliance._ He was grinning from ear to ear. "Well, Captain, you're on your way! Godspeed and give the Peeps some hell from all of us!"

"Will do, Mr. Ericsson," replied Captain Christopher with a grin of his own. "Please convey the thanks of the crew of _Alliance_ to all your people for doing such a fine job."

Ericsson said that he would and signed off. Captain Christopher looked around his bridge for a moment and then addressed the astrogator.

"Mr. Henning, lay in a course for Blackbird Orbital Four, please."

"Already laid in...and on the board now, sir."

"Very good. Helm, come to course two-two-eight, mark three-nine, minimum maneuvering thrusters."

"Aye, aye, sir, turning to port and downward, minimum thrusters."

It took almost three minutes to turn the ship to its new heading. The thrusters gently nudged the ship around and just as gently nulled out her momentum when the turn was complete. She could have turned much more rapidly, but there was a reason for the Captain's order.

"Mr. Rutledge, I want aft thrust at zero point one gees for five seconds and then stop all thrusters."

"Aye, aye, sir." The helmsman typed a few commands into his board and a moment later reported that the ship was coasting.

"Very well. Mr. Vandergrift, sound the acceleration alarm."

"Yes, sir." The Communications Officer touched his board and a piercing alarm rang through the ship. It was followed by a recorded voice: "Now hear this! Now hear this! Stand by for acceleration! All hands secure yourselves!" The announcement repeated itself and then fell silent. Perhaps thirty seconds passed and then Vandergrift looked up from his monitors.

"All decks report secure for acceleration, sir."

Captain Christopher touched a control on his command chair and the piercing 'All Hands' alarm sounded again.

"Attention, this is the Captain. I'm sure the builders did a great job on our ship, but let's make sure they didn't leave any hammers lying around. I want every eye and every ear glued to your monitors looking and listening for loose objects. All right, let's do it, people."

"Mr. Rutledge, set the grav plates for full nullification, then take us ahead at one gravity."

"Aye, aye, sir. Grav plates at full null, thrusters ahead at ten meters per second squared."

_GNS Alliance_ jumped forward at ten times her previous acceleration. It was still a crawl compared to what full thrusters - or her impellers - could do, but it was an important part of the shake-down procedure. A ship under impeller drive used her inertial compensator to cheat Sir Isaac Newton's Laws of Motion. The ship could accelerate at rates that would have crushed her crew to that proverbial anchovy paste, but the inertial compensator allowed the crew to survive without mussing a hair. Unfortunately, the IC only worked when the impellers were functioning. Under thrusters, Sir Isaac was ready and waiting to avenge himself. The artificial gravity plates built into the decks of the ship could also nullify acceleration effects but only at a fraction of what the IC could do. Accelerations of up to five gravities could be completely nullified and greater accelerations at a steadily shrinking ratio. Right now _Alliance_ was accelerating at one Terrestrial Gravity. Since she was built along traditional lines, her decks ran fore and aft along the length of the ship. Anny, and everyone else aboard, would have been pressed aft against their seats at ten meters per second, per second except for the effects of the grav plates.

However, not every part of the vessel had grav plates.

In fact, most of the ship did not. Her huge missile magazines, fuel tanks and the cavernous pod bays were in zero-gee all of the time - except when the ship was under thrusters. Anything in one of those areas would then be subjected to normal acceleration effects. Which meant that any loose objects would be flung aft at an acceleration equal to the ship's forward acceleration, in triumphant confirmation of Newton's Laws. Rather than find out if there were any loose objects at accelerations that would have turned them into potentially damaging missiles, the Captain was checking at a more sensible pace.

A minute passed and a report came in from one of the lower decks. Lieutenant Commander Mendoza at the Damage Control station relayed it to the Captain.

"Sir, we've got a report from magazine one-nine. A small object, maybe a tool, flashed by one of the video pickups and a loud 'clang' was heard. I've marked the location for the repair parties to investigate."

Several more minutes went by, but the only other report was about a flapping sheet of insulation on one of the fuel tanks.

"All right, it seems that Mr. Ericsson's people were unusually fastidious in their work habits," said Captain Christopher. "Mr. Rutledge, increase acceleration to two gravities; let's see if that shakes anything loose."

Anny knew that over the next few weeks, they would be doing this same test at higher accelerations and would throw in violent course changes as well. Some of those test would be conducted with the nullifying effects of the grav plates turned off or at acceleration above what the plates could handle. When the ship was "cleared for action" all loose objects had to be secured in all areas of the ship. It was part of the basic safety procedures that had to be drummed into the heads of every person aboard.

"No reports of anything new, Captain," said Mendoza after a while.

"Mr. Henning, can I take her to three gravities without bollixing your turnover for Blackbird Orbital Four?"

"Yes, sir, but don't keep her there too long."

"Very well. Helm, take us to three gravities."

[Scene Break]

A few hours later, _Alliance _was safely docked at the station orbiting the moon Blackbird. Transfer tubes had been connected and fuel, provisions and missiles were moving steadily into the ship. Anny's watch had been relieved and she was trying to find her way back to her quarters. It was not too difficult, the ship was well laid out and her compad gave precise directions. In a few days or weeks she would know the twists and turns of the ship's corridors as well as she knew her own house, but right now she still needed a little help.

She reached the passageway that led to her quarters and was surprised to see an armed marine standing sentry at the entrance. He glanced at her as she approached but did not move or speak. Anny stopped when she reached him.

"Private, is there a problem here?"

"No, ma'am, everything is in order."

"Then what are you doing here?"

"This is my duty station, ma'am."

"Here?"

"Yes, ma'am. My sergeant posted me here. My orders are to let no ...male personnel into Ladies' Country without proper authorization."

"Ladies' Country, Private?" said Anny with a growing smile.

"Er, the Women Officers' Berth, I mean, ma'am," said the marine, who was starting to look a little flustered.

"I see," said Anny. "Well, my quarters are down this way, but I'm afraid I don't have any authorization."

"That's not a problem, ma'am, you're not a... I mean you are a... I mean you can go ahead, ma'am!" He was definitely flustered now.

Anny gave a little laugh. "I'm sorry private, I should not be giving you a hard time. Carry on."

"Yes, ma'am!"

Anny proceeded down the passageway to her quarters. She went inside and closed the hatch behind her. Then she laughed again. _Armed guards outside my quarters! This may be more of a challenge than I thought!_

Anny looked around her new quarters. She had only glanced at them when she first arrived, in her hurry to get down to the boat bay. The compartment was about three meters wide by four meters long. There were two fold-down bunks on opposite walls with small desks built-in next to them. Clearly, the place was designed for two people, but there was only Anny's name on the door and no evidence of anyone else's gear in the room. There was a table that could be folded down from the wall, but it was only usable if the bunks were folded up. Four chairs completed the furnishings. There were a number of built-in storage lockers and two small closets. A door gave access to a small but functional head with toilet, sink and shower.

On the one stretch of bulkhead that was not taken up with something else, there was a large viewscreen. Anny switched it on. She found herself looking out into space. The moon, Blackbird, was far below and the sky was dotted with stars. A number of orbital installations and ships could also be seen. The image was totally realistic and Anny might have been looking out an actual viewport. She fiddled with the selector and saw that there were also a wide range of landscapes available. After a bit she put it back to the viewport setting and turned away.

Anny sat down on her bunk and looked around. If she had this whole compartment to herself, she was going to be quite comfortable. It was not as nice as her room at the Academy, but it was far better than what she had on her 'prentice cruise. She was particularly glad that she was not going to have to share the bathroom facilities with any men - that had always bothered her. Even so, she was going to miss having Patric close by. His quarters were some distance away and he was sharing the room with another lieutenant. Between Patric's roommate and the armed guard at the end of the passageway, they would have a hard time even visiting with each other.

Anny sighed. She really loved Patric and this whole business of having him as her noble 'male protector' was a pain sometimes. It did allow them to see each other, but Patric took it very seriously. There were a few times when Anny had initiated some pretty serious necking, but Patric refused to take it any further. Anny smiled. _If he only knew the number of nights I almost snuck into his room! I wonder what he would have done then? Probably kissed me and then tossed me out on my backside!_

Anny shook her head and then started unpacking her bag. Her locker had not arrived yet; she hoped it was somewhere aboard and not still on a cargo lighter. Fortunately, she had everything she would need for a while in her bag. It did not take long to find places to put her meager possessions. She was wondering what to do next when there was a knock on her door.

_Maybe Patric got past my guard._

But it was not Patric. Anny found herself staring at a woman in the uniform of a lieutenant commander. Neither one said anything for a moment.

"You must be Andreanne Payne," said the woman finally. Then she smiled. "I'm Christine Tropio, but call me Chris. I'm pleased to meet you - I've heard a lot about you."

She held out her hand, and Anny took it. Tropio's grip was firm and the smile on her face seemed warm and genuine. Anny smiled back.

"I guess you have me pegged, Chris, and please call me Anny."

"Okay, Anny, I will. Can I come in for a moment?"

"Certainly," said Anny quickly. "Pardon my bad manners, I was just setting up housekeeping."

"No problem," replied Tropio, coming inside. Anny offered her a seat and they both sat down on a bunk facing each other. Anny snuck a peek at the patch on Tropio's right shoulder and saw that she was from Manticore. Her accent seemed a little odd, though, so she might have been from Sphinx or Gryphon instead of Manticore itself. For that matter, she could have been from somewhere else entirely; there were a lot of volunteers and expatriates that had entered Manticoran service since the war started. Tropio glanced around Anny's quarters.

"Just like mine: a double with only one occupant. There are twenty berths in the 'Nunnery' and only a dozen women. I guess when all the others get settled we can take some of the empty rooms for our knitting or maybe have a quilting bee."

"The 'Nunnery'?"

Chris Tropio laughed. "Oh that's just what we call the section they have set aside as Ladies' Country. I've been on three Grayson ships so far and each one of them had its own Nunnery. Never one quite this luxurious though."

Anny smiled, but then a shocking thought struck her. Here she was, a Grayson, but she had no idea what it was going to really be like serving aboard a Grayson ship. Chris Tropio was not a Grayson, but she did know. Well, there was one way to find out...

"Chris? What's it like? Serving on a Grayson ship, I mean. How do the men treat you?"

Tropio stared at Anny with a small grin. "Well, it seems to be a bit different from ship to ship. For the most part, it is not bad. It might take a while to get used to the little things: men standing aside to let you through a hatch first; men standing up when you come into a compartment; men offering to carry things for you, that kind of stuff. Of course, you're probably more used to that anyway. Usually, after a while they start treating you like one of the boys. Every now and then you'll run into one that resents you being there at all, but that's pretty rare among the veterans. It's usually the newbies that are the worst. Of course, I'm talking about how they treat other women from the Alliance, I'm not quite sure how they'll react to you."

"Why would they treat me any differently from you?" Even as she asked the question, Anny guessed what the answer probably was.

"Because you are a woman and a Grayson - they've never seen one of you before. I guess no one else has either. In the temporary quarters they had set up for us before they shipped us out to _Alliance_ you were one of the main topics of conversation. Everyone seemed to know you would be coming here - great security, huh? - and they were all talking about it. Most of them had gotten used to the other women, but you - well, you are something different."

Anny looked down at the deck. "I don't want to be different," she said quietly. "I just want to do my job."

"Too late for that, Anny. If you didn't want to be different, you should have stayed home - or stayed in the RMN."

Anny frowned. "Why did you transfer to the Grayson Navy, Chris?"

"Oh, only for the noblest reasons, to be sure! My last CO in the Royal Navy was a galactic-class S.O.B. and if I didn't want to stay a junior grade lieutenant until I was old and gray I had to get out of where I was. The opportunity to transfer came along - with a promotion - so I grabbed it and never looked back."

Tropio had worn a smile since she came into the room, but now it faded. "You'll find that most of the non-Grayson volunteers have a similar story. Junior officers - commoners - with no great career prospects, coming here to get that promotion and escape whatever dead end they had gotten themselves into. I'll admit that I was not the best officer around before I transferred, but I've got a second chance now and I intend to make the most of it. That's why I decided to make friends with you, Anny." Tropio's grin returned.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you are an honest-to-God hero," said Tropio, pointing to the ribbons on Anny's uniform. "And the rumor mill has it that you are on the fast track. I figure when you make captain or admiral, you might remember poor ol' Chris Tropio who befriended you on your first day aboard _Alliance!"_

Anny blushed. "I wasn't much of a hero. Just lucky."

"First prerequisite for the hero business from what I hear," said Tropio. "And lucky or not, you had more decorations before you graduated than most people - like me for instance - collect in ten years of service. Anny, I don't think you need to worry about how the men are going to treat you. From what I've heard, three-quarters of the crew is in awe of you and the remaining quarter is afraid to say anything bad about you because of what the other three-quarters would probably do to them."

Anny blushed and shook her head. Things just seemed to be getting more and more complicated! The conversation was starting to upset her so she changed the subject.

"What's your assignment, Chris?"

"Engineering, Main Environmental Control. If your quarters get too hot or cold, I'm the one to blame. I know you are one of those exalted bridge types."

"Yeah, helmsman in AuxCon," replied Anny.

"Like I said." Tropio looked at her chrono. "It's been a long time since breakfast, so what do you say we try and find the Officers' Mess?"

"It sounds good to me, Chris, but you mean the 'Nunnery' doesn't have a private dining room?"

"Nope, nor any good-looking waiters. Frankly, that's my chief complaint with being in Grayson service. The social situation is incredibly awkward. Some of the men want nothing to do with you, others expect 'way too much because you're one of those loose-moraled outworlders, and the rest haven't got a clue." Tropio looked at Anny and her smile became mischievous.

"But I understand you have that situation under control, too. I wish someone would issue _me_ a "male guardian"."

Anny blushed fiercely, partly because of Tropio's words and partly because of what she had been thinking about before Tropio knocked on her door. For a moment she did not know what to say.

"It...it's not like that," she said, at last, "Patric and I are just...we're not...not..."

"Hey, it's none of my business whatever you are or aren't doing. But I'd like to meet this Patric of yours - maybe he's got a cute roommate."

"Well, I guess we can find out," said Anny. She had been shocked and a little offended by Tropio statement, but now a tiny smile returned to her face.

"Right! But after we eat, Okay? C'mon, let's go."

**Chapter Four**

"**H**elm, reduce power to eighty percent," said Captain Christopher.

"Aye, aye, sir. Impellers at eighty percent," replied Lieutenant Rutledge.

Anny Payne was at her station in Auxiliary Control, watching the bridge crew put _GNS Alliance_ through her first run at Maximum Military Power. She had passed with flying colors. The latest generation of Beta nodes and inertial compensators had let the ship accelerate faster than any other superdreadnought had ever done. She had even exceeded her builders specs by 0.2%.

The Captain turned to the engineer representing the Blackbird Yards who was observing the trials.

"Well, Mr. Caffrey, the ship seems to be living up to all of your promises."

"As I assured you she would, Captain. Our construction and testing procedures are the finest anywhere. You are not going to find any serious problems with _this_ ship!"

"You'll have to forgive us if we see that for ourselves, Mr. Caffrey."

"Of course, Captain," replied the engineer. It seemed to Anny from his tone that, in fact, he could not really forgive the captain for doubting him. Anny had been watching Caffrey for several days, and while he was obviously extremely competent in his field, his people skills did not match his engineering ones.

The Captain was checking one of his readouts and then he looked up.

"According to the procedures list, we are finished with checking out the N-space bridge controls. Now we get to do it all over again with Auxiliary Control in charge. Are you folks ready down there?"

Anny suddenly felt nervous. She knew this was coming today, but now she was going to be piloting the ship - with everyone in both control rooms watching!

"Yes, sir!" said Commander Brock, "Ready at your word."

"Very well then, Commander. You have the ship."

Holding conversations with the bridge was slightly surreal. The ship's designers had incorporated the same holo-display feature on the bridge so they could observe what Auxiliary Control was doing. Fortunately, the display did not show the _other_ display or there would have been an endless series of progressively tinier control rooms shrinking into infinity. Even so, each person was looking at the back of the head of their counterpart. If you turned around so the other person could see _your_ face, you could not see theirs. The designers had not been so clever after all it seemed. You could get used to it after a while, but Anny felt a little awkward knowing that the Captain and Lieutenant Rutledge were now looking over _her_ shoulder instead of vice-versa. Her nose was suddenly itching but she refused to scratch it.

Commander Brock looked over his checklist and then turned to Anny. "Helm, reduce impeller power to zero."

"Aye, aye, sir. Impellers at zero power."

"Engineering, shut down the impeller drive and secure. Helm, stand-by on thrusters." They would be starting with thruster controls and working back up to the impeller drive, just as the bridge had done. Fortunately, they would only be confirming that the controls were working properly and not trying to shake things loose as they had earlier.

"Aye, aye, sir. Thrusters standing by," said Anny.

"All right, take us ahead at one gravity."

Anny's fingers quickly found the proper keys: THRUSTERS - AHEAD. ACCELERATION - 1.0 G. EXECUTE.

"Thrusters ahead at one point zero gravities, sir." A grin spread over Anny's face - she was piloting a superdreadnought!

After a few moments Commander Brock ordered a turn to starboard.

"Aye, aye, ship turning thirty degrees to starboard, sir."

Ten minutes later they had made a dozen changes to their course and acceleration, but Anny was no longer smiling. Something did not feel quite right, but she was not sure what it was or how to bring it to the Commander's attention. Fortunately, the Captain gave her the opportunity.

"How does she feel, Ms. Payne?"

"I...I'm not sure, sir," said Anny, suddenly conscious of many eyes focused on her. "She feels a little...sluggish on the helm, sir."

"Well, she's not a cruiser, Lieutenant," said the Captain, with a small chuckle. "You might be used to a nimbler ship."

"I don't think that is it, sir." Anny was a little sorry that she had said anything.

"Mr. Caffrey, my helmsman says the ship feels sluggish on the helm. Is there any way we can check that?"

The engineer seemed scandalized. "Everything is completely nominal on my readout, Captain; perhaps the problem is with your helmsman." Anny found herself blushing.

"Perhaps," said Christopher, "But I know that Ms. Payne is an excellent pilot and I trust her instincts. Can we run a test against the designed parameters?" Anny felt incredibly grateful for the Captain's words. Now if she just did not end up making a fool of herself - and him!

The engineer snorted, but typed some commands into his board. On the main monitor several lines of text appeared:

Maneuvering Thruster Test #1

90 Degree roll to Port

Designed Time to Complete: 22.5 seconds

Actual Time to Complete:

"Very well, Captain, if your helmsman would like to run her test." The engineer's voice indicated what he thought of it.

"All right, Ms. Payne, if you would execute a ninety degree roll to port - with your permission, Commander Brock."

"Of course, Captain. Ms. Payne, please roll ninety degrees to port."

"Aye, aye, sir," said Anny. She took a deep breath and activated the thrusters. "Ship rolling to port."

The numbers on the readout ticked off the time. When the roll was finished everyone stared at the results:

Designed Time to Complete: 22.5 seconds

Actual Time to Complete: 22.5 seconds.

Anny felt her face burning, but she had noticed something else while she was staring at the time readout.

"As you can see Captain, exactly per the design specs - perhaps you need to recalibrate your helms_woman_," said Caffrey. The way he had said that last word cleared up Anny's question of whether Caffrey was from Grayson or one of the Alliance worlds. Anny could not see Captain Christopher's face, but his voice did not sound as friendly as it had a moment before.

"Mr. Rutledge, did you notice anything 'sluggish' when you had the con?"

"No, sir. Not a thing."

"Well, Ms. Payne, I guess we can chalk this up to your...inexperience with a superdreadnought."

"Excuse me, sir," said Anny, and she struggled to keep her voice level. "Can we try that again?"

The engineer snorted, but after a moment the Captain shrugged his shoulders. "Very well, Ms. Payne, we'll do it again."

The results were exactly the same-as Anny had expected.

"There, Captain, you see: we are wasting our very limited time. Now if we can get on with..."

"Mr. Caffrey?" said Anny. She would have never dreamed of interrupting an officer, but Caffrey was not an officer.

"What is it now, Miss Payne?"

"Can you set up your display to record the elapsed time from when I press the 'Execute' key until the thrusters actually fire?"

"What for? Execution should be nearly instantaneous - perhaps a tenth of a second for the thrust to build up, but nothing more than that."

"Can you do it, sir?"

"Captain," said Caffrey, clearly irritated, "can we get on with our tests?"

Christopher was silent for a few seconds. "Mr. Caffrey, would you please set up a test as _Lieutenant_ Payne has requested?"

The engineer snorted again, a sound Anny was coming to dislike. He turned back to his panel and typed in a few more commands. The monitor now read:

Maneuvering Thruster Test #3

90 Degree roll to Port

Time of Execute Command: 0:00:00.00

Elapsed Time Until Thrusters Fire:

Designed Time to Complete: 22.5 seconds

Actual Time to Complete:

"Very well, Ms. Payne, you may roll the ship again," said the Captain.

Anny held her breath and hit the 'Execute' key. Even before the roll was complete, there was a stir among the officers on the bridge and in Auxiliary Control. When the roll was finished, the display read:

Maneuvering Thruster Test #3

90 Degree roll to Port

Time of Execute Command: 0:00:00.00

Elapsed Time Until Thrusters Fire: 0:00:01.05

Designed Time to Complete: 22.5 seconds

Actual Time to Complete: 23.55 seconds

Captain Christopher turned to face Caffrey and that allowed Anny to see the amused grin he was wearing.

"Mr. Caffrey, it seems that my _helmswoman_ does not need recalibrating after all. But I think perhaps your controls do."

Caffrey's mouth opened and closed a few times before he could get any words out. "Captain, we should not jump to any conclusions here based just on this one test. We need to carefully determine if there really is a problem and then work to find out just what the cause..."

"Mr. Caffrey, it is taking my ship one-point-oh-five seconds longer to roll ninety degrees than it should. In combat, seconds are priceless jewels. I can assure you that there really is a problem and we had better find out what it is!"

"Er, well, of course, Captain. Could we...uh, run that again?"

"Certainly, Mr. Caffrey. Anny, would you oblige him?"

Anny beamed at the Captain's use of her first name. "Yes, sir! Any time you are ready, Mr. Caffrey."

A quarter of an hour later they had confirmed that the delay was present each and every time a command to the thrusters was ordered. Mr. Caffrey, once he admitted there really was a problem, threw himself into solving it with a single-mindedness that Anny had to admire. Unfortunately, there did not appear to be any immediate indication of what was causing the problem. On a hunch, the Captain had the same test performed on the controls of the main bridge - with the same result. Anny had been feeling very pleased with herself up until that point. Now she realized that she may have made herself an enemy. Lieutenant Rutledge, the bridge helmsman, had not noticed the problem when he was piloting the ship. The Captain did not comment on that fact, but even from behind, Anny could see that Rutledge was upset.

"Well, it seems that we are not going to fix this particular glitch right now," said the Captain after a while. "I assume you'll have your people look into this, Mr. Caffrey. In the meantime, we can proceed with the other tests." He turned his command chair around until he was facing towards Commander Brock. "Commander, carry on." Then he swiveled slightly until he was faced in Anny's general direction. "Nice job, Anny, well done."

"Thank you, sir," said Anny, but her gaze was drawn to the holo-display where a ghostly Lieutenant Mark Rutledge sat with clenched fists.

[Scene Break]

"Ow!" cried Anny.

Anny was lying on her back, with her head, shoulders and most of her torso wedged into the tiny access space around the controls for Thruster Unit 129. She had just banged her elbow on something hard and was trying not to curse.

"You okay in there?" came the voice of Ensign Donald Aston.

"Fine, just fine, Ensign," muttered Anny.

_Well, this is a great reward for finding that glitch with the thruster controls! You'd think they would send someone else to fix it!_

That was not an entirely fair comment by Anny. There _were_ quite a few other people involved in fixing the problem besides her and Ensign Aston. The engineers of the Blackbird Yards had managed to pinpoint the problem after several days of work. It seemed that at some point during construction, the software controlling the thrusters had been upgraded. Unfortunately, when the new software was loaded, the old software - for reasons as yet unknown - had not been overwritten. Both sets of software coexisted side-by-side in the thruster controls. When the command was given to activate a thruster, the command was passed back and forth between the two sets of software a couple of trillion times before one of them finally decided to execute it. The result was a one-point-oh-five second delay each and every time. The obvious solution was to erase the old software and reload the new. Many attempts were made to do this from the central computers, but with no success. The old software stubbornly refused to go away, and as long as it remained, the problem persisted. It was finally decided that the easiest solution was to pull out the molycirc core of each controller and start fresh. It was easy from the software engineers' point of view, but they were not the ones that had to replace four hundred and twenty-six thruster control cores.

Blackbird Yards had a number of crews working on the job, but Captain Christopher wanted it expedited, so _Alliance's_ crew was helping out. Like most other people on board, Anny had a secondary assignment in addition to her main job at the helm of Auxiliary Control. Quite logically, she was assigned to Maneuvering Two, which, along with Maneuvering One, oversaw all the ship's equipment that had anything to do with steering - including all of the thrusters.

As a result, Anny was lying on her back rubbing her banged elbow. She and Ensign Aston had already pulled and replaced four of the tiny cores this watch, and had six more to do.

Or more precisely, Anny had pulled and replaced those cores while Aston had watched. The ensign had proved so fumble-fingered on the first unit that Anny had ended up doing it for him - along with the next three. Frankly, Aston's attitude was beginning to bother Anny.

Anny was squirming around to try and get at the core when she heard Aston saying something.

"What was that, Ensign?"

"Oh, nothing, just talking to someone here."

_Great. Now where is that blasted thing?_ Anny twisted a little more until she could finally see what she was doing. She reached up with the extraction tool to pull it out. The tool kept slipping off, but after about six attempts she finally got the core out. She transferred the core to her left hand and held it out so that Aston could take it from her and hand her the new core.

Nothing.

"Ensign! Take this please!" she shouted.

"Oh, sure thing." She felt the old core taken away and after ten or fifteen seconds the new core was placed in her hand. Anny held the new core up where she could see it to make sure it really was one of the new cores. _I sure don't want to have to do this again!_ It was a new core and Anny managed to push it into place on the first try.

"Ensign Aston, run the confirmation test, please."

He did not answer, but she could still hear him talking to someone else. Anny was about to shout at him when he finally spoke up.

"Test looks good! Guess we're done with this one."

Anny wormed her way back out of the access space. She sat up with a groan. There was another ensign standing next to Aston. Aston was chatting away, unconcerned, but the other ensign's eyes grew wide when he saw Anny.

Anny glared at both of them and then turned and closed up the access panel. She stood up and grabbed the tool kit.

"Let's go Ensign, we have five more of these to do before 1600."

"Be right with you," said Aston. The other ensign continued to glance at Anny and finally managed to break away and disappear down the passageway. Aston came over to Anny.

"Friend of mine," he said. "OK, where's the next one?"

"Number One-Thirty-One. Up this way," said Anny. They started walking in the direction she had indicated.

Anny was more than a little annoyed by Aston's attitude and lack of respect. She had been ignoring it all through the watch, but suddenly she had had enough. An image of a sneering cadet at Saganami Island named Archie Lansdorff flashed into her mind, followed by the memory of a flight of _Javelin_ trainers shattering into pieces. Before she was really aware of what she was doing, she had rounded on Aston and backed him up against a bulkhead.

"Just where, exactly, were you trained, ensign?" she snarled, pushing her face within a few centimeters of the startled young officer.

"At...at the Grayson Naval Academy," he stuttered.

"Well perhaps you were absent the day they gave the lesson on protocol. You will find, if you look in the regulations, that the proper form of address when talking to a superior officer is "Sir" if the officer is male and "Ma'am" if the officer is female! Does that ring any bells, _Ensign?"_

"Uh...yes! Yes, ma'am!" Aston's eyes were as wide as they could get and he was trying to merge himself into the bulkhead.

"For your further information, Mr. Aston, when you are sent out as part of a duty team, you are expected to pull your weight! Not stand around talking to some buddy of yours! Is that clear?"

Aston was getting over his initial surprise and was starting to get angry in turn. "Well, you were in the access way and there wasn't anything I could do..."

"Mr. Aston! If you have any problems working with me, any problems taking orders from me—any problems at all, I'm sure the Exec could find you another assignment! Somewhere far away from me - very far away! Do you want to go see the Exec?"

"No! No, ma'am!" Aston's momentary rebellion collapsed, and he was as wide-eyed as before.

"Good! Now here, take this toolkit!" Anny shoved the heavy kit into Aston's belly and he grunted.

"You are going to do the next one, Ensign - no matter how long it takes! Let's get going!"

Aston shot her a terrified glance and started along the passageway. Anny followed along behind. A small grin started to grow on her face.

_Wow, that felt good! Wouldn't Helen be proud of me?_

**Chapter Five**

**L**ieutenant (j.g.) Helen Zilwicki watched _HMS Hydra_ grow larger and larger on the viewscreen of her _Shrike_-class Light Attack Craft. A smile had been growing on her face for the last twenty minutes that seemed almost as big as the carrier.

_Wouldn't Anny be proud of me? Flying _Shrikes_ isn't like flying _Javelins,_ but it seems I learned a thing or two from you back on the Island!_

It had been two months since she had joined up with the _Hydra_ in Manticore B's Unicorn Belt training area. Almost from the first day Helen had been impressing her superiors with her tactical skills, but today she had outdone even herself.

"Velocity one hundred meters per second," said Warrant Officer Eric Whelan, the LAC's helmsman.

"Stand by to cut bow thrusters at zero velocity," replied Helen.

"Aye, ma'am, cutting thrusters...now."

Helen's vessel, officially LAC-3372, unofficially-and rather unimaginatively in Helen's opinion-the _Black Magic_, floated in space four kilometers from the side of _HMS Hydra._ The three other LACs of her flight were nearby. They showed plainly on the tactical display, but their black paint schemes would have made them invisible to the naked eye even if the visual pick-up had been pointed at them.

"Ms. Pancoast, contact the ship and tell them we are ready for docking."

"Aye, ma'am. _Hydra, _this is Gamma-Two Leader. Section Gamma-Two ready for the tractors," said Ensign Carol Pancoast into her com.

"Acknowledged, Gamma-Two Leader, activating tractors now," said a voice over the speaker.

There was no perceptible sensation, but they could see they were moving towards the ship. The invisible tractor beam had latched onto them and was pulling them in.

"Secure lock with the tractor," reported the helmsman.

"Very well, standby on the thrusters until we are hard docked, Mr. Whelan."

"Aye, aye, ma'am." Whelan gave a small sigh that coming from someone might have been taken as impertinence, but Helen knew her helmsman better than that.

"Of course you could shut down those thrusters now if you want, Eric," said Helen with a grin. "Provided you volunteer to hammer out all the dents in this ship-and the docking bay-if that tractor should fail."

"Well, if you put it that way, Skipper, I'll just stand by on these thrusters a little while longer," said Whelan with an answering smile. "Of course I've been piloting small craft for nearly..."

"...ten years and I've never even heard of a tractor failing!" Chorused every other person on the bridge. Whelan looked around with an expression of total innocence.

"Or have I mentioned that before?"

"A time or two, If I recall," said Helen. "I'm afraid you're just going to have to put up with this cautious old woman you have for a skipper, Eric." Helen's executive and Tactical officer, Ensign Randolph Huber's head jerked around at that.

"Cautious? After what you just pulled off, I doubt anyone would apply that term to you, Skipper! If you were cautious they would have handed us our heads just now - instead of vice-versa!"

"That was a calculated risk and quite justified by the tactical situation, Ensign," said Helen with an air of feigned indignity. "Risking my vessel by shutting down the thrusters early does not fall in the same category."

"Well, I'll concede the part about the thrusters...," Huber's serious expression suddenly broke apart in a laugh. "But as for the rest of it - Gosh, that was a sweet move, Helen! Where'd you learn that one?"

"From a friend of mine at the Academy," answered Helen, then she clicked on her com-link. "Chief, we are just about to dock - you can shut down that beast of yours."

"Right, Skipper," came back the voice of CPO David Kimmel, acting engineering officer. "Damping down the reactor now."

Several of the other people on the bridge let out sighs of relief. Helen really could not blame them. Her own feelings about the power plant of _Black Magic_ were decidedly mixed. A fission reactor might make sense for a LAC, but it still took some getting used to. The fact that Kimmel and his two assistants were the only ones on board who really understood how the thing worked did not help any.

"Three hundred meters, Skipper," said Whelan, drawing her attention back to the docking operation. "Bay doors open; course is right down the groove; velocity ten meters per second."

"Very good," replied Helen. At this point, everything was in the hands of the hanger bay crew. All Helen could do was watch.

The tractor beam gently pulled the twenty-thousand ton LAC into the docking bay. The beam, in alternating tractor/pressor mode, slowly killed the LAC's velocity until it was scarcely moving. _Black Magic's_ bow entered the docking collar and after a few moments Helen felt the thump as the forward clamps grasped her ship. More thumps followed as clamps further aft locked into place, securing the LAC completely.

"_Hydra,_ Docking Bay Ninety-four to Gamma-Two Leader. Hard dock complete, your ship is secure. Welcome home you guys!" said a voice over the com.

"Acknowledged, Ninety-four - and thanks," said Helen. "Mr. Whelan, _now_ you may secure those thrusters."

"Aye, aye, Skipper."

[Scene Break]

A little while later, Helen was debarking from _'Magic_ with her crew. They exchanged greeting with the hanger crew that was arriving to re-arm and run maintenance checks on the LAC. Randy Huber fell into step with her.

"Learned that from a friend, eh? That would be the famous Andreanne Payne, I would imagine," said Huber.

"None other. Best pilot I ever met. You've heard of her it seems."

"Skipper, just because I 'came up through the cargo hatch' and never trod the sacred soil of Saganami Island doesn't mean I spent my time in a cave on some asteroid. The two of you were pretty famous after that fight on _Relentless."_

"Well, the newsies sort of latched onto us. It really wasn't that big a deal," said Helen. She was never very comfortable talking about her 'prentice cruise.

"Yeah, right," snorted Huber. "Just like you were being 'cautious' during the exercise today." Helen blushed but said nothing.

"Speaking of which," continued Huber, "I guess I should start calling you 'Assistant Squadron Commander'."

"Don't go making any assumptions, Randy, Lieutenant Adams hasn't made any decisions yet."

"He doesn't have to, Skipper, you took the decision out of his hands two hours ago. There's no way he's going to pick Mills over you now! Face it Helen: Mills is not even in the same league as you - hardly anyone on the _Hydra_ is."

They reached a turn off in the passageway and Helen stopped.

"Well, we'll see. In fact, I guess _I'll_ probably go see very shortly, I'll talk to you after the debriefing."

"Right! Good luck, Skipper - not that you need any luck."

Huber continued on his way. Helen turned and went through the hatch. The debriefing room was not far and Helen was soon seated among the growing collection of LAC commanders. Helen had a few minutes to think before the meeting started.

Randolph Huber was a good man. He and Helen had hit it off very well right from the start. Even though Huber was eight years older than Helen, he had no problem taking orders from her. They had quickly become the sort of team a CO and her XO/TAC officer had to be if a ship was to function well. Of course, the fact that Huber had started off as an enlisted man and had only recently come up 'through the cargo hatch' via OCS, probably went a long way to explain his ability to take orders from young officers. He also seemed to have limitless confidence in Helen's ability and he had infected the whole crew with it. She knew she was very lucky to have someone like Huber working for her. She also knew that a number of the other LAC crews did not function nearly so smoothly as hers.

It was probably inevitable that there would be some friction in an outfit like this. LAC carriers were a relatively new phenomenon in the Royal Navy. There were few precedents or traditions governing their functioning. The crews - from the carrier's captain on down - were young and ambitious, highly skilled and each one determined to prove that he or she was the best. There was a strong camaraderie that overcame a lot of the friction, but the sense of competition was always there, too.

Unlike a new ship where all the upper ranks were filled with experienced officers and everyone had an assigned spot, the LAC Wing that Helen joined was being started basically from scratch. Commander Lowell, the Wing Commander or "COLAC", the three group commanders, and eight of the twelve squadron commanders were all veteran LAC officers - or as veteran as could be expected. Everyone else in the wing, however, was fresh out of the training schools. The open command slots were going to go to whoever proved they could handle them-and a lot of people wanted them.

Including Helen.

At the moment, Helen was competing with Lieutenant (j.g.) Sinclair Mills for the assistant squadron commander's slot in Gamma Squadron. Her Squadron CO, Lieutenant Richard Adams, had not made a final decision on who would get it, but Randy was correct: there had never been any real doubt. Adams was giving Mills a shot at it for form's sake, but Helen was clearly the best one for the job. Privately, Helen felt she was probably better than a lot of the Squadron commanders, but she did not have the rank or seniority for that-yet. In any case, Adams would be making his decision today.

"Attention!" shouted someone and Helen shot to her feet. Commander Thaddeus Lowell walked into the compartment and went to the head of the room.

"Be seated," he said.

Lowell was a young hot-shot-just like everyone else in the compartment, but he also had as much experience as anyone in the Fleet when it came to LAC carrier operations. Helen knew that he had been a LAC skipper on the original _Minotaur_ during her initial deployment and had several years of duty as a squadron and group commander before being picked to lead _Hydra's_ LAC wing. The fact that he was just a commander showed how rapidly the carrier forces of the Fleet were growing.

The official Table of Organization called for a carrier's skipper to be a senior grade captain and the COLAC to be a junior grade captain. Group leaders were supposed to be commanders and squadron leaders lieutenant commanders. LAC skippers were intended to be lieutenants. On board _Hydra _almost every post was being filled by someone a grade lower than the TO called for.

"All right, people, we have quite a bit to cover today," began Lowell. "First I want to look at the exercise that was just completed and then go over the finalized organization for the Wing. I have received all of the squadron and group commanders recommendations and we will be implementing them as of today. I don't have to remind you that we have less than a month left to get the Wing fully operational. Captain Romney tells me that _Hydra_, herself will meet the deadline and I fully intend for us to do so as well. They need _Hydra_ out on the line and we can't let ourselves be the cause of any delay."

"As for today's exercise, well...," Lowell smiled and shook his head. "As most of you probably realize by now, that exercise was a bit of a set-up. Admiral Veluska wanted to see how we could react when an operation went wrong. There was a force waiting to ambush us when we made our attack. Unfortunately-for the Admiral-he was not counting on having his ambushers ambushed themselves. I believe we have Lieutenant Zilwicki to thank for turning the tables in such a timely fashion. Lieutenant, would you care to explain just exactly how you did that?"

Helen had been expecting this, and she was no stranger to lecturing others on her tactical methods, but she still had a few butterflies in her stomach as she rose and went over to the tactical display."

"Yes, sir. As you can see, my section was on the extreme flank of the attack force. I had noticed that this area of the asteroid belt would provide an excellent hiding place for an enemy force and I decided..."

Two hours later, Assistant Squadron Commander Helen Zilwicki was leaving the briefing room, when she spotted Lieutenant(j.g.) Sinclair Mills. She hesitated a moment and then walked over to him. _We may as well get this settled right now._

"Skip? Do you have a second?" said Helen.

Sinclair "Skip" Mills had graduated two forms ahead of Helen at the Academy, but because of the changes to the curriculum, that only equated to about twelve months of real time. And because of Helen's promotion at graduation, he was actually junior to her. He was also a half a head taller than she was and now he was staring down at her with a frown on his face.

"I suppose for my Assistant Squadron Commander, I can make the time," replied Mills. His voice was completely toneless and Helen winced slightly. She led him to the side where they had a little privacy.

"Look, Skip, I know you wanted the slot that Adams gave to me, but I hope there are no hard feelings. You're a good officer and I hope we can keep working together." Helen had no idea how Mills would respond, but she had to at least make the gesture.

Mills did not say anything right away, but Helen could tell that he was thinking and not just reacting. After a few moments Mills started to nod his head and the tiniest of grins played over his face.

"Well, I would be lying to say I wasn't disappointed...but Adams made the right choice, Helen. I can still remember the splash you made in the tactics classes and the simulators back on the Island, I guess it was just my bad luck to end up competing with you here."

"Well, I hope you won't always think it was bad luck," said Helen.

"No, you are right-again. At the rate things are moving, and with your skills, you'll probably get your own squadron before long and I'll have another shot at it. Okay, no hard feelings." Mills held out his hand and Helen took it.

"Thanks, Skip," said Helen, "You're a good man."

[Scene Break]

A little while later Helen returned to her quarters. The relief she felt that Mills was not going to be a problem combined with her appointment as Assistant Squadron Commander had put the grin back on her face. She punched in the entry code and the hatch slid open. She stepped inside and heard a muffled giggle. She looked over at her roommate's bunk and saw that the privacy curtain had been drawn. The grin left her face. Another giggle followed the first.

Helen shook her head and closed the hatch behind her. Lieutenant (j.g.) Doris Appleman was the electronic warfare officer on a LAC in Delta Squadron. Helen got along with her all right, but other than their interest in LACs, they seemed to have nothing in common. _I wonder who it is this time?_

In addition to LACs and electronic warfare, Doris definitely had an interest in men. Almost from their first day aboard, she had either spent her sleeping watches in someone else's cabin, or, more often, had a guest with her here. Helen did not particularly like it, but there was nothing she could do about it-except put in for a change of roommates, and she did not want to do anything so obvious as that.

"That you, Helen?" said a female voice from behind the curtain.

"Who else would it be, Doris?" said Helen patiently.

"Oh, I don't know, maybe one of my many admirers."

There was snort of male indignation and then a squeal that dissolved into more giggles and laughter. Helen shook her head again and flopped down on her own bunk. She checked her chrono and saw that she had nearly seven hours until her next duty. Getting the wing ready for combat took a lot of work, but there was a lot of down time, too. Currently, they were on a three day cycle of classroom instruction, simulator problems, and actual flight exercises. Tomorrow would be more class.

Helen was tired, but not really sleepy. The pace on _Hydra _was fast, but she had more free time than she ever had at the Academy or even the preliminary LAC training. The LAC crews had no involvement with shaking down _Hydra_, herself, and the maintenance of _Black Magic_ was mostly in the hands of her hanger crew. Helen had very little paperwork, but she had a feeling that would soon change now that she was the Assistant Squadron Commander. At the moment, however, she had nothing to do. Back at the Academy, she had spent her rare free time running tactical sims against the computer. She could do that here, too, but she just did not feel like it.

Helen lay there and listened to the noises coming from her roommate's bunk. Living with Doris was a new experience for Helen. Except for a brief period when they were sharing their suite with four other cadets, there had never been any of this sort of extracurricular activity around her at the Academy. Anny and Patric had remained commendably chaste (at least as far as Helen could tell) and Alby's rather pitiful attempts to seduce other female cadets had also been unsuccessful.

Helen had never had any real interest in men-up until now. She was barely eighteen T-years old and the Prolong anti-aging treatment had delayed puberty until very recently. In the last few months, though, her slim, girlish body had started to fill out-and there had been other...changes. She was starting to notice the men around her as men and not just other officers. It felt very strange. A few times at the Academy, and a few more times during LAC training, men had shown some interest in her. Helen had always politely, but firmly, told them they were wasting their time. Now, Helen was not sure how she would react if it were to happen again. Part of her had no interest in a romance at this stage in her life-after all, assuming she survived the war, she had at least another two T-centuries to worry about that sort of thing. But in another part of her, there was a vast emptiness, a longing she could scarcely understand.

A faint beep from her computer terminal roused her out of her daydreaming. She had an incoming message. Helen swung her legs around and stood up. Two steps took her to her desk and she sat down. One glance at the message header brought a huge smile to her face.

_A letter from Anny! Great!_

Helen quickly read it through, and then a second time more slowly. It was short and rather vague, but that was due to wartime censorship. Anny could not give any specifics of what she was doing, where she was, or where she was going. If Helen had not already known what Anny's assignment was, she would have learned very little from this letter. Anny did mention that she was doing a "very familiar job" and Helen took that to mean she was at the helm, possibly in auxiliary control like on their 'prentice cruise. Other than assurances that she and Patric were well, and inquiries about Helen's health and well being, that was about it.

Helen began to write a reply. Very shortly, she was cursing under her breath at the automatic censor function in her word processor. It was being very picky about the things it would let Helen write. She could always switch it off, but then the letter would have to be manually censored and that would delay delivery by a month or more. After several attempts, Helen managed to tell Anny that she had gotten an administrative promotion within her current organization, that training was going well and that she felt fine. The rest was the same vague pleasantries that had filled Anny's letter. She read it over and then sighed and hit the "send" key.

She leaned back in her chair and sighed again. She missed Anny more than she would have believed possible. She missed Patric and Alby and her father and Aunt Sylvie, too, of course, but somehow her thoughts always turned to Anny when she was feeling lonely. She had never been this close to anyone who was not a family member-except Aunt Sylvie, who was not really her aunt. Anny was like a sister, or at least Helen imagined that it was what having a sister would be like. She thought about all the time she had spent with Anny at the Academy-and about their 'prentice cruise. Looking back, she could see that she had always been a bit distant towards Anny. Anny had been warm and friendly and never made any secret that she liked Helen a lot. Helen had liked Anny, too, but she rarely expressed it in any way. That had changed a bit after their 'prentice cruise, but Helen regretted not having been more open with Anny. If Anny had suddenly appeared at that moment, Helen would have thrown her arms around her and hugged her for an hour.

The small noises from the other bunk were suddenly intolerable. Helen had to get out of here. She needed to be somewhere with people. _Maybe there will be some cute men down in the officers' wardroom._

**Chapter Six**

"**E**nemy ships entering extreme missile range, ma'am," said Randy Huber.

"Multiple launches detected!" said Ensign Penelope Harding, _Black Magic's_ sensor officer. "Forty-plus inbounds!"

"Estimated target?" asked Helen Zilwicki.

"Hard to say at this range, but it looks like they're concentrating on _Hydra, _ma'am."

"I was afraid of that."

This was never supposed to happen.

Standard tactical doctrine for the employment of LAC carriers called for the carrier to stay well out of harm's way. She could take some pot-shots with her long ranged chase armament, but her LACs were her main battery. The LACs were to be deployed, make their strike, and then rendezvous to be recovered well away from the enemy.

Unfortunately, no one had told this to the enemy. _HMS Hydra,_ CV-06, was running for her life. She had launched her strike-all ninety-six LACs - an hour ago as planned. Then, thirty minutes later a powerful enemy force was detected closing rapidly. _Hydra_ had an escort of two battlecruisers, four heavy cruisers and four destroyers, but unfortunately, there were eight battlecruisers, eight heavy cruisers and at least a dozen destroyers closing in on her. Commodore Wallingford, the force CO, had immediately recalled the LACs and then run at maximum acceleration. They were outside the hyper limit, so they could translate into hyperspace and escape at any time-but only by abandoning the entire LAC wing. The LACs could hurt the enemy force, but they could not beat it. To leave them behind was to ensure their eventual destruction.

The LACs high acceleration had allowed them to bend their vector around into a rendezvous course with their carrier. Unfortunately, they could not hope to catch up to _Hydra_ until well after the enemy had entered missile range. It was a race to see if the LACs could get home before _Hydra_ took crippling damage.

"The task force is really putting out the ECM, Skipper," said Ensign Karl Mondsheim, Helen's Electronic Warfare Officer. "I can scarcely pick out _Hydra _from all the jamming, even knowing exactly what to look for."

"Good, let's hope the enemy missiles will have just as hard a time," said Helen. "Carol, time until rendezvous?"

"Twenty-eight minutes until Three Group reaches them, ma'am, seven minutes after that for us." Carol Pancoast did double duty as the Com Officer and the ship's Astrogator.

It was going to be close. Helen was just glad this was only an exercise.

"I think you may have pissed off Admiral Veluska by ruining his ambush last week, Helen," said Randy Huber. "Seems like he may be out to get us this time."

"And he might just get _us,_ with our being Tail-end Charlie," replied Helen. By chance-if it was chance-One Group, and Gamma Squadron, had been farthest from the carrier when the recall order was received. They would be the last ones to reach safety.

"Forty seconds until the first salvo reaches attack range, Skipper," said Harding. "The enemy has not gone to rapid fire yet; we have about thirty seconds between salvos."

"That makes sense: they want to feel out our defenses before they use up a lot of ammo. They've got at least a half hour before we can hyper out-plenty of time for rapid fire later," said Helen.

They watched the first wave of enemy missiles catch up with their task force on the tactical display. In fact, that was the only place the missiles actually existed: in their computers. During some exercises they were allowed to live-fire with practice warheads, but this was not one of those times. The icons representing the missiles started blinking off the screen as counter-missiles took their toll. More and more disappeared as ECM and decoys tricked them into detonating early. Finally, point defense had its turn and the last of them winked out.

"No hits reported," said Harding. That was good, but there was another salvo only thirty seconds behind the first. And another and another.

Helen started drawing in vectors on the repeater by her command chair. Randy Huber must have been doing the same thing because he suddenly said what Helen had been thinking.

"At the rate they are overtaking the task force, their destroyers will be able to start jinking and bringing their broadside tubes to bear pretty soon-and the cruisers after that."

"Yes," agreed Helen, pleased that her TAC officer was thinking like her, "but I don't think they'll be shooting at _Hydra_ when they do."

"No? But then at who...you mean at us?"

"Yup. For once they've got us where we have to run flat out and our stealth can't help us. I don't think they'll pass up on an opportunity like that. Besides, the angle's better and they can start shooting sooner than they could at _Hydra_."

"But if they get the carrier, they've got all of us," protested Karl Mondsheim.

"You want to make a little wager on who they shoot at, Karl?" asked Huber.

"And bet against the Skipper? I know better than that!"

"Second salvo entering attack range, Skipper-looks like a couple of leakers this time," said Harding.

"No damage," reported Carol Pancoast after a few moments. "They took that one on their wedge."

"The task force is returning fire, Skipper," said Randy Huber.

Helen looked at the display. _Hydra_ and her escorts were firing at their pursuers with their stern tubes. _Hydra_ could have fired long ago with her multi-staged long range missiles, but with only nine tubes, it would have made little impression on a prepared target. Now that the escorts could join in, though, they had a chance to score a few hits. In any case, it would give the enemy something else to worry about.

Several minutes passed and the unequal duel continued. Finally, the inevitable happened.

"Hit on _Hydra!" _cried Ensign Pancoast. Then in a more level tone: "Minor damage only, ma'am."

"They're finding the range," said Helen quietly.

A few more minutes passed. One of _Hydra's_ escorts took a hit and then the carrier took two more in rapid succession.

"Damage to one of the Beta nodes, acceleration down by two percent. One of the hanger bays has taken damage, too." Pancoast was relaying status information broadcast by _Hydra._

"Carol, keep updating our turn-over time based on _Hydra's_ current acceleration- we sure don't want to overshoot!"

"Aye, aye, ma'am."

"Hmm. It occurs to me that parking space might be at a premium by the time we get there, Skipper," said Huber. Helen had been thinking the same thing.

"Change in launch pattern!" announced Ensign Harding. "The DDs have jinked and fired a broadside salvo. Good thing you didn't take that bet Karl."

"They're firing at us?" asked Helen.

"At the Wing, yes, ma'am. It looks like they are shooting at Two Group. Nothing heading our way right now." Harding suddenly looked startled. "I'm sorry ma'am, I should have told you that right away instead of joking with Karl."

"That's all right, Penny," said Helen smiling and nodding her head slightly. "That's why we are doing this: to learn what's important." Harding smiled in return. Helen turned her attention back to the tactical display.

The enemy destroyers were changing course enough to allow them to bring their broadside missile batteries to bear. This caused them to lose ground on their quarry, but they could then turn back and use their higher acceleration to catch up again.

"Time to rendezvous?"

"Three Group is turning over now, ma'am," said Pancoast. "Twelve minutes until they match vectors. Our turn-over is in eight minutes, with vector match in nineteen minutes."

The LACs had used their superior accelerations to build up speed to overtake the carrier. Now they had to decelerate to match speeds so they could be taken aboard.

"First salvo on Two Group nearing attack range, ma'am," said Mondsheim. "Their EW is really foxing them! Over half the salvo has lost lock already!"

"Yes, but their active defenses are not going to be worth much," said Huber.

Unfortunately, to make their rendezvous, the LACs had to steer a precise course. Their counter missile tubes and their point defense laser clusters had a relatively narrow field of fire and the angle the enemy missiles were approaching from was a bad one. They could not fire at them without turning their ships-which is the one thing they could not do.

About a dozen missiles reached attack range and detonated. X-ray lasers sleeted through the formation. All but one either missed or impacted uselessly on impenetrable impeller wedges. One, however was all that was needed to 'destroy' LAC Zeta-Three.

"Ow!" said Huber. "If they keep shooting like that we may have our pick of parking spaces!"

"Just a lucky shot," said Helen calmly. She wished she felt as calm as she sounded.

Another minute passed. One of the pursuing destroyers took a hit from the task force's missiles and veered away, its acceleration down by half. That brought a feeble cheer from Helen's crew which was cut off as _Hydra_ lost two more of its docking bays to an enemy missile.

One Group, the formation of four squadrons _Black Magic_ belonged to, reached their turn-over point. The LACs flipped end for end and began to decelerate. They were rushing toward _Hydra_ at a relative velocity of over seven thousand kilometers per second. _Hydra_ was still accelerating away from them, but the LACs would have to brake sharply for the next eleven minutes to match speeds by the time they caught up with the carrier.

"Signal from Commander Lowell to the Wing, ma'am!" announced Carol Pancoast. "On the com now."

"All right people, this is going to be close," said the voice of Commander Thaddeus Lowell. There was a slight edge in his voice, but Helen could imagine the strain he was under. "As each group approaches rendezvous they will turn and salvo all missiles at the enemy and then proceed with docking. That will give those bogies something to worry about! Docking is by the numbers. Don't do anything foolish people! If you have any problems at all-veer off! Those missiles may just be computer sims, but _Hydra's_ impeller wedge is real! Good luck. Now let's..."

The message ended abruptly. Helen looked up at the tactical display in time to see the icon for Omega-One, Commander Lowell's LAC, vanish from the screen. Omega-One had been with Two Group in the center of the Wing and had apparently just been 'destroyed'.

"Lucky shot, eh?" said Huber quietly.

A few moments of silence elapsed and then Carol Pancoast had another message:

"Signal from Lieutenant Commander Mitchell, ma'am. He's assumed command of the Wing and orders us to proceed with Commander Lowell's instructions."

"Acknowledge the signal, Carol," said Helen.

Several more minutes passed and Two Group took three more hits-two of them were squadron commanders.

"I think I'm detecting a pattern here," said Randy Huber with a grim smile on his face. "You ready to take over the squadron, Skipper?"

Helen did not answer. She stared at the tactical display as Three Group neared the task force. On cue, all thirty-two LACs turned as one and salvoed off their missiles at the pursuing enemy. Six hundred and forty missiles streaked away in an elongated volley.

"Let's see how they like being on the receiving end!" said Karl Mondsheim excitedly.

The enemy did not like it at all, it seemed. As the LACs missiles closed in on them they changed course and rolled up on their sides to present their impeller wedges to the incoming fire. Their ECM, counter missiles and laser clusters took out over two-thirds of the missiles. Many more wasted themselves on impeller wedges, but the remainder found numerous chinks in the enemy's defenses.

"All right!" exclaimed Ensign Penelope Harding.

One of the battlecruisers reeled out of formation along with two of the heavy cruisers. A destroyer joined them and another simply vanished as its fusion reactor 'exploded'. The other ships must have taken some damage, too, but they kept coming.

Three Group had used its "distraction" to good effect. Half of them had already been taken aboard while their missiles had savaged the enemy. As Helen watched, eight more LAC icons merged with _Hydra's_ and disappeared from the tactical display.

"It's a shame we have to run," said Mondsheim. "We do that a few more times and the odds will be even."

"Not enough," said Helen, shaking her head. "Once our missiles are gone, there's not much we can do. We'd never survive to close with our grasers. And their heavies haven't even used their broadsides yet."

As if in confirmation of Helen's statement, the enemy did not resume its pursuit course immediately. Nearly three hundred missiles leapt from their broadside tubes towards _Hydra_ and her escorts. Fifteen seconds later, another salvo was heading towards the luckless Two Group.

"Oops," said Mondsheim, "I see what you mean, Skipper."

"Yeah, I think we made them mad," added Huber.

Fortunately, there was no huge third salvo as the enemy swung around and continued the pursuit.

Helen looked at her bridge crew. Every one of them was older than she was. But none of them had ever been in combat. Huber and Whelan had spent their years of service in rear areas, and the rest were fresh out of the training schools. Their joking banter was just what Helen's midshipmen had been like on their 'prentice cruise. Half of those middies had never returned.

The last of Three Groups LACs had been taken aboard _Hydra_ before the enemy's massive salvo arrived so the carrier and her escorts could maneuver freely. It helped, but not enough. _Hydra _took a number of hits, none of them critical, but her speed dropped and more hangers were put out of action. Two of her escorts were not as lucky. The destroyer _Alert_ vanished from the tactical display as the containment field of her fusion reactor failed. The battlecruiser, _HMS Courageous, _was heavily damaged and could no longer keep up with the task force. Fortunately, she was still hyper-capable and after another minute she vanished into hyperspace. Helen reflected that while _Courageous_ had in truth hypered out and left the normal universe, _Alert_-and all the other 'dead' ships- were still here: Out of the game and skulking back to base.

"It looks like Two Group's not going to just lie there and take this one, Skipper," said Randy Huber. Helen looked at the display. Two Group was swinging around and launching counter missiles at the incoming salvo.

"That's going to be cutting it awful fine, ma'am," said Carol Pancoast. "With _Hydra's_ speed down they are going to have to redline their impellers to still make rendezvous." By turning to bring their missile defenses to bear, Two Group could not decelerate; they risked rendezvousing with _Hydra_ at too great a speed to dock.

But Lieutenant Commander Gilson, commander of Two Group, knew what he was doing. In addition to counter missiles, his LACs fired off all their shipkillers at the same time. Then as the enemy salvo closed in, his LACs rolled to present their wedges, put up their bow walls-and prayed.

As a result of their efforts, "only" seven of their number were destroyed. Immediately, the surviving LACs swung around and resumed decelerating.

"Nice move!" said Pancoast. "By firing off their missiles now, they can make up the lost time by not having to do it later."

"Yeah, but now they aren't going to have any cover fire for their docking," said Huber.

"Incoming fire!" exclaimed Penny Harding. "The DDs have shifted fire to One Group, ma'am! Their missiles will reach attack range in one hundred-ten seconds!"

"All right, Mr. Mondsheim, you're on," said Helen calmly.

"Aye, aye, ma'am! Initiating full countermeasures...now!"

The four squadrons of One Group had already been flooding space with electronic noise in hopes of helping out their comrades. Now they doubled and tripled their efforts in hopes of saving themselves. The enemy had learned some of their tricks already, but the LACs had learned as well. Fortunately, there were three less destroyers now than there had been when they started firing at Two Group and their salvo was correspondingly smaller.

"We're lucky the cruisers aren't shooting at us, too," said Randy Huber.

"They lost too much time when they were evading Three Group's salvo," said Helen absently. She was staring at the tactical display. Two Group's salvo was reaching attack range. The enemy commander decided to not turn away and roll ship against this smaller salvo. They angled slightly so the missiles would not get 'down the throat' shots, but they kept coming. It was a gutsy decision; Helen was not sure she would have made the same call.

With hindsight, the enemy commander probably would not have made that call either.

One of the enemy's battlecruisers abruptly disappeared from the plot. The computer referee had decided she had taken a fatal combination of damage and signaled 'Game Over" for her. A second battlecruiser's acceleration dropped significantly. She fell behind her consorts, but she kept coming. A heavy cruiser and two more destroyers also appeared heavily damaged.

"Yes!" cried several people on _Black Magic's_ bridge.

"That will make thing easier for us to get home," said Huber.

"But now it's our turn," said Helen quietly. The enemy missiles were nearly upon them. "Roll ship, Mr. Whelan."

"Aye, aye, Ma'am. Commencing evasive roll."

The LACs of One Group could not change course, but they could roll to try and interpose their impenetrable impeller wedges between them and the missiles that had survived their electronic countermeasures. Point defense laser clusters stood ready to pick off anything that tried to attack through the open throat or kilt. Helen was glad that she was in a Model B _Shrike_ which had a pair of point defense clusters facing aft. Even though the missiles on her display were not really there, Helen found herself gripping the arms of her chair and holding her breath as their icons merged with One Group's.

"No hits, Skipper," announced Huber with a relieved sigh.

But the enemy destroyers had gone to rapid fire and the next salvo was only fifteen seconds away.

Two Group was docking with _Hydra_ now. There were nineteen of them left so it would only take about a minute to accomplish. It would be One Group's turn in a little over three minutes.

"Signal from Commander Mitchell," announced Carol Pancoast. Mitchell was commanding the Wing, but he was also One Group's commander.

"Stand by to come about and salvo missiles," said his voice over the com. The next enemy volley passed through One Group as he spoke-again with no hits. "The turn will commence after the next missile wave, on my mark."

"Mr. Whelan, stand by to bring the ship about, on the command," said Helen.

"Aye, aye, ma'am, standing by."

The seconds ticked away and the next batch of missiles on the display bore down on them.

"One Group, stand by...," said Mitchell.

The icons merged on the screen, Helen opened her mouth to relay Mitchell's command.

But there was no command.

Helen stared incredulously as five icons winked out in One Group-Commander Mitchell's LAC and all four squadron commanders.

For one frozen instant, Helen remembered an auxiliary control room on a dying cruiser-and then remembered that she was the senior assistant squadron commander in the Group.

"Carol! Open channel to the Group!" snapped Helen.

"Yes, ma'am! You've got it!

"One Group! Execute!"

It was a little ragged, but the twenty-seven surviving LACs spun around and salvoed off their missiles. Then they spun back and continued decelerating.

"I don't think that was quite fair!" exclaimed Warrant Officer Eric Whelan, after he put _Black Magic_ back on course.

"It sure as Hell wasn't!" agreed Randy Huber. But then he looked at Helen with an admiring smile. "But nice job-Commander."

Helen returned his smile, but there was sweat trickling down the sides of her face and her hands were trembling on her chair.

"Carol, give me the Group again."

"Channel open, Skipper."

"Attention One Group, This is Lieutenant Zilwicki. I am in command of the Group now. We will commence docking in two minutes. Alpha Squadron first, followed by Beta, Delta and then Gamma. By the numbers people! And for God's sake be careful!"

"Carol, get me Gamma Four."

"Aye, aye, Skipper."

"Lieutenant Mills, take over Gamma Squadron, will you?" said Helen.

"Sure thing, Commander," replied Skip Mills. "See, I was right."

"The enemy is changing course, ma'am," announced Penny Harding. "They're opening up their broadsides."

Helen had expected that; _Hydra_ would be hypering out as soon as the last of the LACs were aboard. The enemy had perhaps five minutes to do whatever damage he could. More missiles from the destroyers were passing through One Group and a LAC from Alpha squadron was hit. In another minute, the LACs would be close enough to the task force that they would be one big target.

And somehow, in the midst of the enemy fire, they had to dock with _Hydra_.

Helen was still sweating. What was about to happen was one of the most dangerous bits of ship handling that ever happened in the Navy. _Hydra_ was still accelerating under her impeller drive. Two huge planes of stressed gravitational energy above and below her formed a 'wedge' with the ship in the middle. The wedge was open in front and back. It was a large opening in front, but at the rear it narrowed to only about fifteen kilometers tall. It was about twenty kilometers wide, between the other two planes formed by the ship's defensive sidewalls.

The nature of both the wedge itself and the sidewalls was that any material object that came in contact with them would be annihilated-literally ripped atom from atom by an enormous gravitational shear. While the missiles that were menacing them were imaginary, that shear was very real.

To complicate matters even more, the physics of the impeller was such that two different impeller drives could not exist in close proximity. The impeller wedge of the LACs could not fit through the rear opening in _Hydra's_ wedge in any case, but even if they could, the nodes that produced their wedges would explode the instant they entered the carrier's field.

In order for the LACs to dock they would have to drop their own wedges before closing with _Hydra. _The procedure was to bear down on the carrier with enough extra speed that they would not be left behind when they cut their drives. They would coast through the rear opening of _Hydra's_ wedge and be grabbed by the rear-facing tractor beams mounted on the carrier's after hammerhead. The tractors would guide them around the stern of the ship and pass them off to another tractor mounted in one of the ship's hanger bays. If everything went right, the LAC could then be pulled inside and docked. If anything went wrong, if a tractor lost its lock on the LAC, the crew had to be ready to guide itself clear of the ship, the sidewalls and the wedge using only thrusters. In theory, an entire squadron could be handled almost simultaneously with the eight rear tractor beams.

_The rest of the_ _Wing has done it, so it must be possible._

Helen had done this in simulations, but never for real. Most of the operation was handled by the computers, but it was still a nerve-racking experience under the best of conditions.

And this was hardly the best of conditions.

_Hydra_ drew closer and closer. The four squadrons of One Group spread out into docking formation, with Gamma Squadron at the rear. The enemy missiles came hurtling in all around them. The carrier and her escorts took more damage and two more LACs were destroyed. One Group's salvo reached the enemy and this time they rolled to present their wedges. The survivors of their five hundred and forty missiles tore through the formation and another battlecruiser 'exploded' along with several other ships.

"That was ours!" exulted Karl Mondsheim. "I'm painting the silhouette of a battlecruiser on our hull when we get home!"

Helen scarcely heard him. She stared intently at the navigational plot. Alpha squadron was moving into position. Everything looked good and a few seconds later, their icons had left the display. There was a short gap in the enemy's fire because of their evasive action against One Group's missile salvo. Beta Squadron took advantage of it to dock with _Hydra. _

_ One more squadron to go and then it's our turn!_

More enemy missiles were on the way. Not as many as before, but still far too many for comfort. Delta squadron took their positions and were hauled aboard. _Black Magic_ and the other LACs of the squadron slid into the approach vectors fed to them by the carrier's computers.

"This is _Hydra_ Flight Ops," said a weary voice over the com. "Looking good Gamma Squadron. Drive cut-off in ten seconds."

Gamma Squadron was moving into place when the next enemy salvo struck.

"Multiple hits on _Hydra_!" cried Carol Pancoast.

Almost instantly the 'abort' signal flashed on their boards. Helmsmen reacted immediately as they had been trained. The LACs used their bow thrusters to kill their overtake velocity and Gamma Squadron took station a thousand kilometers astern of their carrier, matching her course and acceleration.

"Gamma Squadron, this is _Hydra_ Flight Ops." The voice was not weary now, it was frantic. "We've run out of luck! That last one took out the rest of our empty hanger bays and two of our stern tractors. We can't take you aboard!" Helen exchanged chagrined glances with Randy Huber-_to have gotten this close!_

Suddenly a new voice came on the com.

"This is Captain Romney. Stand by, Gamma Squadron. We are going to tractor you inside our translation field and tow you into hyper."

Helen grinned, but her palms were damp. It could be done: haul the LACs in close to the carrier, extend the translation field that caused the jump into hyperspace, and pray that the tractors did not fail. It could be done, it had been done on occasion, but Helen doubted if anyone around here had ever done it for real!

Then she realized that there were seven LACs in Gamma Squadron-and only six tractor beams. _Hydra_ realized it too.

"Gamma Squadron, we can only take six of you. One of you is going to have to stay behind," came the voice of the harried Flight Ops controller.

There was no time for discussion; more enemy missiles were on their way.

"Zilwicki to Gamma Squadron, proceed with docking. Go!" said Helen into her com.

"Eric, take us away from the carrier," she said quietly to the helmsman.

"Aye, ma'am," said Whelan.

"Hell," muttered Randy Huber, "We almost made it."

Black Magic veered away from _HMS Hydra._ Helen was disappointed, but she was also satisfied to see Gamma Squadron pulled in by the carrier's tractors.

_Admiral Veluska will only have one LAC head to nail on his wall._

"General signal from Flag, ma'am," said Carol Pancoast.

"Open up the formation and prepare to translate into hyper, according to the plan," came a voice over the com. Helen was not sure if it was Commodore Wallingford, his flag captain, or someone else. "Good job people."

The ships of the task force started to spread out. Standard procedure called for the carrier and half the escorts to hyper out first, followed a few moments later by the rest of the escorts. That was a precaution in case the carrier failed to make the jump for any reason-so she would not find her self left behind with no escorts.

Just as Helen and _Black Magic_ were about to be.

The other people on the bridge of the LAC were starting to relax. There was nothing they could do now. They had no missiles left and it was only a matter of time before an enemy salvo picked them off-Game Over.

But Helen's mind was still racing-evaluating options. She had no intention of just waiting here for the computers to tell them they were 'dead'. But what to do? They could kill their drive, go to full stealth and with the maelstrom going on around them, they would have a good chance of slipping away. But to what purpose? They would still be counted as a 'kill' when it was all over. She had just about decided to turn around and charge the enemy and go out in a blaze of glory when another thought struck her...

She quickly looked over the status display of the ships in the second half of the escort. Which ones were damaged the worst; who their captains were...There!

"Mr. Whelan! Steer for _Myrmidon_! Intercept course! Carol! Get me _Myrmidon's _skipper!

"Aye, aye, ma'am!" said the helmsman and com officer in unison. Their surprise and bewilderment evident in their voices.

A moment later, Captain Jason Early, commander of the heavy cruiser _HMS Myrmidon, _appeared on a monitor. He seemed tired and none too happy.

"Yes, Lieutenant? I'm a little busy right now..."

"I'm sorry, sir," said Helen, "But my carrier seems to have gone off and left me." _HMS Hydra_ and half the remaining escorts disappeared into hyper as Helen spoke.

"And I was wondering if I could hitch a ride with you?"

Early's face twisted into an astonished frown. "Lieutenant, are you out of..."

"I suppose I could go back and rip up Admiral Veluska's squadron a bit more, but I think he may be angry enough right now, Captain. And this would be an honorable way out for him." Helen's tone was flippant, but her eyes pleaded with Captain Early.

Early's twisted frown smoothed out and was slowly replaced by a twisted grin.

"Why, yes, Lieutenant, that certainly would be an excellent way out-for all of us." Early suddenly turned and spoke to people outside the view of the camera pickup. "Flight Ops! Tie into that LAC's computer, set up a rendezvous. Charlie! Ready a tractor! Engineering, reconfigure the translation field for a twenty thousand ton hitchhiker! Move, people!"

"Thank you, Captain," said Helen, returning his grin.

"Course and speed data uploading now, Skipper," said Astrogator Carol Pancoast. "Transferring data to the helm."

"I'm putting us in the groove, ma'am," said Whelan, looking over the data. "Drive cut-off in thirty seconds, rendezvous in forty."

Very good, Mr. Whelan. Oh, you will keep those thrusters hot, won't you?" said Helen.

"Yes, ma'am!"

"We have incoming missiles, Skipper," said Penny Harding. "The enemy was targeting _Hydra_ until she hypered out, so we have about ninety seconds."

"Plenty of time," said Helen, "plenty of time."

_Black Magic_ closed in on the stern of _HMS Myrmidon_. On schedule, the LAC dropped her impeller and a tractor beam reached out from the cruiser to grab her and pulled her inside the cruiser's wedge. On the visual monitor, the ship's stern loomed impossibly large only a few kilometers ahead of them.

"Stand by for translation," said a warning voice over the com.

A few heartbeats went by and then there was that gut-wrenching twist as the cruiser and her hitchhiker jumped into hyperspace.

**Chapter Seven**

"**A**ll things considered, people, I'm very satisfied with your performance today," said Commander Thaddeus Lowell to the assembled LAC skippers. Helen reflected that he looked remarkably fit for having been 'killed' just a few hours before. _Hydra_, her LACs, and her escorts had all returned from hyperspace. _Hydra_ was now docked with the space station _Weyland_ to take on supplies.

"I know there has been some grumbling about how we have been 'set-up' in the last two exercises," continued the commander. "But we cannot expect the enemy to play by our set of rules. The unfortunate truth is that sometimes an operation is not going to go the way we want it to. When that happens we have to be able to react accordingly. I also know that there is a perception that Admiral Veluska is 'out to get us'. I can assure you that is not the case. The Admiral is a strong supporter of the LAC carrier concept, but he wants to be sure that we are ready to meet any eventuality. If we train as though nothing will ever go wrong with our plans, then we will be in sad shape if something ever does.

"In today's operation, things went badly wrong, but we recovered about as well as I could hope for. In the course of the action we destroyed two battlecruisers, two heavy cruisers and three destroyers. We crippled or badly damaged a like number. We can also be pleased that we left none of our people behind." The Commander looked at Helen and a number of other heads turned in her direction.

"Our losses were one destroyer killed and moderate to serious damage on the other ships. And, of course, twenty-five of our LACs."

Helen looked around the compartment. If the battle had been real, over a quarter of the people here would be dead.

"While that is a very favorable kill ratio, we should not let it go to our heads. The fact remains, that the damage we took would, in all probability, mean that _Hydra_ and her task force would be out of the war for six to nine months. In the strategic picture, that could be far more important than the material losses we inflicted on the enemy. With that in mind, we must look at this exercise not merely as training for making a fighting withdrawal, but as a warning to prevent any similar surprises in the future. The Commodore, Captain Romney, and myself, will be discussing that issue in the near future, but I would like to solicit your comments as well."

There were some nervous glances and shuffling of feet in the audience but after a moment, a young man stood up.

"Lieutenant Deveau, sir. I was wondering if in a situation like we just had, it might make sense for the task force to hyper out immediately and try to rendezvous with the Wing somewhere else in the star system. Instead of turning back like we did, we could have just kept going and _Hydra_ could have come back out of hyper on the other side of the system and we could have met up with her there."

"That is a good point, Lieutenant," said Commander Lowell. "And in actuality we do have alternate rendezvous points as a standard part of our operating procedures. I know we have not gone over that in our training yet, but, in fact, that is part of next week's exercises. In this last exercise, however, it was part of the ground rules that no future rendezvous would be possible, and we had to pick the Wing up when we did or not at all. That is a situation that could certainly arise in actual service and it was important for us to practice it."

Deveau nodded and sat down. Helen glanced around the debriefing room and then stood up.

"Lieutenant Zilwicki, sir. It occurred to me during our run back to _Hydra_ that if we had left a bit of slack in our rendezvous times, it would have allowed the Wing to maneuver more freely in its own defense. I realize that in this exercise, there was no slack to be cut, but in a less...desperate situation, delaying rendezvous by even a few minutes could have cut down the Wing's losses significantly."

Commander Lowell looked at Helen with a strange expression. It seemed like he was trying to peer inside her and Helen felt a little uneasy.

"A good point, Lieutenant," he said after a moment. "We will have to look into the possibilities. Perhaps a set of different rendezvous schedules could be developed and then the most appropriate one to the situation could be implemented."

"That was what I was thinking of, sir. Thank you." Helen sat down.

Another officer rose. "Lieutenant Harris, sir. Perhaps part of the Wing could be used to extend the task force's sensor coverage to prevent surprises like this in the future."

"That is another idea we are already looking into..."

The brainstorming went on for nearly an hour. Some good ideas were brought up and some not so good ones. Good or bad, the ideas were listened to and discussed. Helen was impressed that the LAC skippers were being allowed to have input like this. Finally, Commander Lowell had to bring the discussion to an end.

"I want to thank all of you for your contributions here today, and for your hard work these past two months. A few more weeks and the Wing will be ready for action- then the real job begins. But that's all for today. Thank you again. Dismissed."

The officers got to their feet and began filing out of the briefing room. Helen followed along, but then the Commander called out to her.

"Lieutenant Zilwicki, would you remain a moment?"

More heads than her own looked up in surprise. "Of course, sir," answered Helen. She stepped into an empty row of seats to let her fellows pass and then walked up to the front of the compartment. Commander Lowell was waiting with Lt. Commander Mitchell.

"Yes, sir?"

"Come with me to my office, Lieutenant," said Lowell.

Helen followed the other two officers along several corridors and eventually reached Lowell's office. Helen declined coffee and the three of them sat down around a small conference table.

"You realize that was a very dangerous thing you did today, Lieutenant?" said Lowell without preamble.

"Yes, sir, but I believed that the tactical situation justified it," replied Helen. She was nervous: LAC officers were supposed to be bold and use their initiative, but you could never tell how taking the initiative would sit with your superior until you tried it.

"In a real battle, there would be no argument: find a way to escape, or you and your crew are dead. But this was not a real battle, Lieutenant. It was a training exercise. Some people might consider what you did to be reckless." Lowell's face revealed nothing, but his voice did not seem terribly angry to Helen.

"I thought the purpose of training was to prepare us for real battle, sir. I knew I was taking a risk, but I would rather take it now so I'll know I can do it when I really need to." Helen tried to sound confident without slipping over the line into impertinence. She was not certain if she was succeeding.

Lowell was silent for a few moments. Helen glanced at Lt. Commander Mitchell. It almost seemed like he was trying to suppress a smile...

"Well, Lieutenant, the bottom line is that while you had no orders to do what you did, you had no orders not to either. And taking into consideration your record here so far, I have to think that you are not one to take wild or unjustifiable risks. In fact, I imagine this latest action was as carefully thought out as all of your others."

"I hope so, sir."

Lowell snorted. "Oh, don't 'I hope so, sir' me! You just happened to pick _Myrmidon_ and Captain Early to ask for a lift. He just happens to be the youngest captain in the task force and he just happens to have a reputation for being a fire-eater and one willing to stretch the regulations. I suppose that was just random chance, Lieutenant?"

"Well, not exactly, sir..."

"Of course it wasn't! You knew he was the most likely one to go along with your scheme and so you picked him." Lowell paused and stared at her. Then he pointed to her head. "Tell me, Lieutenant, is there really a brain in there or just a frighteningly sophisticated tactical computer?"

Helen was startled. She did not know how to answer the Commander, so she did not.

Commander Lowell stared at her for a while longer, but slowly the scowl left his face.

"I suppose that's about all the chewing out I can justify under the circumstances. Just between you and me and the four bulkheads-and Mitchell here, of course-that was a hell of a piece of work you did today, Lieutenant. Not just getting yourself out of there at the end, but taking command of One Group the way you did."

"Thank you, sir," said Helen. She was surprised at the change in tone, but she managed to keep the surprise out of her voice.

"That part of it definitely was a set-up, by the way," continued Lowell. "I'm sure you noticed the high percentage of casualties among the upper officers. That was to test out a few people we've been looking at. Including you."

"Sir?"

"Lieutenant, I'm sure you are aware of the rapid expansion that is taking place in the Fleet's carrier forces," said Lowell. Helen nodded her head. "The Admiralty was pretty lukewarm on the idea when _Minotaur_ was commissioned. Only two other carriers were under construction at that time. After _Minnie's_ showing at Second Hancock, we got some more support. Four more carriers were laid down-including _Hydra. _You probably don't know it, but eight more carriers are due to be completed over the next six months. And there are others being built, too."

Helen was impressed. She had known more carriers were under construction, but not that many. They were going to need a lot of LAC crews to man all of those _Shrikes_...

"Obviously, this is also going to mean a great expansion in the Navy's LAC wings," said Lowell. "Frankly, I have no idea where they are going to find all of those people, and it is not really my concern at the moment. What is my concern is that BuPers has ordered me to give up one of my group commanders to take over a newly forming wing. I'm not terribly happy about that, Lieutenant."

Helen said nothing, but she had a sudden thrill of anticipation. Why would Lowell be telling her this if it did not effect her somehow?

"I have to find a new group commander. The obvious solution is to take one of my more experienced squadron commanders, but then I have to find a new squadron commander to replace him or her." Lowell paused and stared at Helen. "I have decided to send Mitchell here off to his new wing and give One Group to Lieutenant Adams. How would you like to take over Gamma Squadron, Lieutenant?"

"I would like that very much, sir," said Helen.

"I rather thought you would," said Lowell. His face cracked into an uncharacteristic grin. He stood up and offered Helen his hand. She rose and took it.

"Congratulations, Helen."

"Thank you, sir."

Lowell took his seat again and Helen did as well.

"I'll be sending my recommendation in for your promotion to senior grade lieutenant immediately. I have no idea how long it will take to get it approved, but you have the brevet rank for it as of now." Lowell leaned back in his chair.

"I don't know if you need to think about this-but knowing you, you probably already have-who would you like for you assistant squadron commander?"

"Lieutenant Mills, sir" said Helen without hesitation. "He was in the running for it before Lieutenant Adams selected me. I think he would be a good choice."

"I agree. Okay, Mills it is," said Lowell. "One other thing: As a squadron commander, you will have far less time to spend commanding your own LAC. Your XO is going have a lot more responsibility put on him. Do you think your exec is up to it?"

"Yes, sir, I do. I realize that Ensign Huber is not an Academy graduate and has no combat experience, but I have full confidence in him. He has a solid grasp of LAC tactics and he is learning to read my mind very well."

"A useful skill for any executive officer," chuckled Lowell. "Very well, I think that about covers it. Oh, by the way, at our next squadron commanders' brainstorming session I want to explore the idea of having all of the suitable escort ships practice towing LACs into hyper - it could really cut down the amount of time it would take to make a quick getaway."

"An excellent idea, sir," grinned Helen, "I look forward to it."

[Scene Break]

Helen was feeling very pleased with herself as she arrived back at her quarters, until she noticed a crowd of people standing outside her door.

_Does Doris have a waiting list now?_

Then someone in the crowd caught sight of Helen and they all turned to face her. She saw that it was the crew of _Black Magic_. Randy Huber came to the head of the group.

"Well, Ensign, what is this all about?" asked Helen. _They can't know about my promotion already! Lowell would not have announced anything before he talked to me!_

"Ma'am, I have the privilege to tell you that the Unofficial Council of Executive Officers of _HMS Hydra_ have voted us as "The LAC Crew Most Likely to Get Home Again". I believe we have you to thank for that, ma'am." There were a number of modest cheers from her crew.

"You are welcome, I'm sure," said Helen with a smile. "But what are you all doing here?"

"Ma'am, seeing as we here are all in your debt. And seeing how we have a solid twelve hours until our next duty. And seeing how you are the best goddam LAC skipper in the entire Navy. We intend to take you out for the best dinner and the best celebration that can be found on Her Majesty's Space Station _Weyland_! And we won't take 'no' for an answer - ma'am! Unless you want a mutiny on your hands, that is!"

Helen was surprised and genuinely touched. She had gotten along well with her crew and she tried to be fair and easy going with them-as long as they did their jobs well-but she had never tried to win any popularity contests. The smiles and looks of sincerity on their faces was a real shock. _Why, they actually like me!_

Helen found herself being led off the ship, down a boarding tube, and into the commercial sector of the space station. Shortly thereafter, she and her crew were in one of the best restaurants on the station. _The Starside_ was a popular establishment with Royal Navy officers. You usually needed reservations weeks in advance. Helen had no idea how her crew had arranged this on such sort notice, but with no waiting at all, they were seated at a table for ten with a spectacular view of Gryphon through the huge armorplast viewport. Several waiters were providing excellent service to go along with the excellent food and drink.

_Who's paying for all this? _wondered Helen. As far as she knew, none of her crew had any special source of money. A set up like this could cost them all a month's salary! But no one seemed to be worrying about that. The food kept coming and the drinks kept flowing. Helen did not drink alcoholic beverages and contented herself with soft drinks. Most of her crew had no such inhibitions, however. But in spite of all they were putting away, they refrained from being too rowdy-although on a trip to the rest room Helen noticed that a noise buffer had been unobtrusively erected around their area-just in case apparently.

Helen had never been one for partying, but she enjoyed the evening immensely. Her crew had a good time and made her feel welcome without trying to make her the center of attention. It was odd: In a military situation Helen was entirely used to having people look to her for instructions and being at the center of things. In a social situation, it was exactly the opposite, she was more comfortable being on the edges. Her crew seemed to sense that and did not force themselves on her.

Helen spent a good deal of the evening talking quietly with Randy Huber.

"How did you guys manage to arrange all of this so quickly?" asked Helen.

"I'm not sure of all the details myself, but I think it was Chief Kimmel's doing. Apparently the head chef here is ex-navy and the Chief knows him."

"Ah," said Helen, "The 'Network' is alive and well! I never really thought about it reaching outside the Navy, but I suppose it would."

Huber quirked an eyebrow. "So you know about the 'Network', do you? You are pretty savvy for someone fresh out of the Academy, Skipper, hero or not."

"Well, I had some good teachers," smiled Helen. "There was a CPO there that knew all the tricks and would tell a few of them to us."

"Giving away Guild secrets? He better watch out!"

"I got the impression that he was the Guildmaster."

Huber nodded his head. "I guess that would do it. Speaking of secrets, when is Lowell going to give you a squadron?"

Helen was only slightly surprised at the question. She glanced around, but the others all seemed to be occupied. "Three hours ago."

"Really? Well Hell!" said Huber vehemently. Helen was startled by Huber's reaction.

"I beg your pardon?" Helen stared at Huber's frowning face in bewilderment.

"Oh, I'm happy for you and all, Skipper, but I had ten bucks in the pool that said you wouldn't get it until next week!"

Helen just gawked at him. Slowly Huber's frown became a grin and he started to chuckle quietly. "Skipper, the look on your face!" he sputtered.

"There's a _pool_?"

"Yeah, and unfortunately, I think Whelan just won it. He's going to be insufferable for weeks!"

Helen just stared at her XO in wonder and slowly began to shake her head. "You guys are amazing," she muttered.

"Why? Because we happen to think you're a fine officer who will always give us everything she's got? Skipper, I've never been in combat, but I've talked with a lot of people who have. They've told me about the sort of officers they want to serve under and from everything I've seen of you, you fit the bill perfectly."

Helen blushed and did not know what to say so she just shrugged. They were both silent for a few moments and watched the other members of the crew enjoying themselves.

"Skipper?" said Huber after a while. "As a squadron commander you really rate a more experienced XO. If you want me to step aside, I'll understand."

Helen looked at him in surprise. "Randy, you are everything I could ever want in an executive officer and that's what I told Lowell. You'll be _Magic's_ XO as long as you want-or until you get your own ship."

Huber looked at Helen with a grateful expression. "Thanks, Skipper, that really means a lot, coming from you."

Helen shrugged again. "You've earned it. You are going to have a lot more responsibility with me having to run the squadron, but I know you can handle it. You have a fine grasp of tactics and I have full confidence in you."

It was Huber's turn to blush. He smiled at Helen and nodded his head. Helen stared at her XO for a few more moments and her expression became thoughtful.

"Randy? I'm not complaining, but what the hell are you doing here?"

"What do you mean, Skipper?" The puzzlement was evident in his voice as well as on his face.

"I mean that you are one of the best tacticians I've run across. I worked with, and competed with, a number of pretty good ones at the Academy, but few were as good as you. I've been watching you in the sims and the exercises. You usually come to the same answer I do and just about as fast. False modesty aside, I am damn good at what I do and you are nearly that good. I've looked at your record, of course, but it doesn't tell me much. You enlist as a common rating two years after the war starts, become a computer tech and then a year ago you get sent to OCS. As good as you are, you could have gone to the Academy or started right off in OCS and then I'd be working for you instead of vice-versa."

Huber looked down into his drink and did not answer. Helen stared at him and could see he was struggling with something.

"It's none of my business, Randy, if you don't want to talk about it," she said quietly.

"No, that's okay, Skipper. It's a little awkward, but I think you ought to know." Huber was silent for a few more moments as if he were trying to decide how best to say what he wanted.

"Y'know the Star Kingdom doesn't like to admit it, but it does have poor people-and some pretty rough places to live," he said at last. "I grew up in one of the Public Housing Projects. My folks sort of dumped me on my grandmother and I never saw them again. I guess I was a pretty smart kid, but I never finished school. Not exactly Academy material, huh?"

Helen did not know what to say. She had half expected it would be something like this when Randy seemed so hesitant to talk about it-but she still did not know what to say. Even so, she did not understand his embarrassment: considering what he had hauled himself up out of, it was not something to be ashamed of...

"It was a pretty typical story, really. I hung around with the wrong crowds and got into trouble with drugs and booze and the Law. Nothing too serious in any of those cases, but I was headed for worse and I did not much care."

"Well, you obviously pulled yourself out of it...," began Helen, but she stopped when she saw the look on his face.

"I suppose I did, but not before I reached the bottom," Huber said quietly. "About the only thing that really held my interest was computer wargames. I'd spend hours sitting at a terminal blasting images on a screen." Helen nodded, she had played more than a few of those as a kid-and that would go far towards explaining Huber's tactical skills.

"A buddy of mine and I played them constantly. We skipped school and stole stuff to pay for better machines and the latest games. It was an addiction worse than the drugs."

A chill went through Helen. She did not like where this conversation was going - she did not like it at all.

"You mean you..."

"That's right, Helen, I was a wirehead," said Randy Huber. The strain in his voice was very plain.

Helen was shocked and in spite of herself, she could not keep the revulsion off her face. While the Star Kingdom may have been embarrassed by its thirty million citizens that lived below the poverty level, it was as nothing compared to how it felt about the wireheads. It was something no one in the human galaxy particularly wanted to think about.

In the decades before Man first ventured to the stars, technology had devised ways of feeding computer-generated images and sensations directly into a person's brain. This artificial reality was completely indistinguishable from the real thing. It was also utterly addictive. A person in one of these artificial worlds could _be_ anyone, _do_ anything, _have_ anything they could imagine, and it would all be perfect. It was _better_ than the real thing and given the choice between that and a crowded and pessimistic world, a frightening percentage of humanity turned its back on reality. The governments of the time actually welcomed it. A wirehead made no trouble, used relatively few resources to keep alive, and best of all, rarely ever reproduced. It was the ultimate means of population control.

Colonization and exploration had always been a weeding-out process. The doers and the bold ones went forth, while the more timid stayed home. By the time Man was ready for his first tentative steps beyond the solar system, a massive weeding-out had already taken place.

Those that had gone out from Sol held the wireheads in the utmost contempt. The explorers felt that they were Humanity's best and they were leaving the worst behind. The wireheads had abandoned their humanity; they had denied their own future; they had become less than human. The colonists and explorers had vowed that such a thing would never happen to them or their descendants.

But two millennia later, there were still wireheads, and they could be found on almost every planet.

Even Manticore.

It was not exactly illegal, but it was highly regulated and very much discouraged. There were many worlds where it was illegal. Even on places like Haven, where it would have actually made some sense. Only on a few of the most decadent worlds of the Solarian League and some of the less civilized worlds out on the fringe was it openly tolerated.

"But...but then how did you ever end up here?" asked Helen, slightly dazed.

"Well, I'm not entirely sure myself," said Huber, and a tiny grin played across his face. "My buddy and I had just finished a long session of saving the galaxy and we were taking a short break to get some food before we started another round. I guess it was lucky we couldn't afford an auto-life support unit, or I never would have had to unhook. Anyway, we were wandering around town trying to panhandle a meal and I bumped into a spacer-literally. He was a navy CPO and from the looks of him he'd had a few too many and had maybe been in a fight, too. He had about a million hashmarks on his sleeve. At first I though he was going to belt me, but somehow he ended up treating me and my buddy to dinner.

"The guy liked to talk and he could tell stories like nobody's business. If even half the stuff he told us was true, he'd been just about everywhere and done almost everything. I was fascinated, and I don't know how long I sat there listening. My buddy wasn't so interested and he disappeared after a while. Come to think of it, I never saw him again. Eventually, I was hooked. I told the guy I wanted to join up."

"But how did you ever pass the physical?" demanded Helen. "I know they run a very thorough check and what you had been...doing would show up on their psycho-scans like a supernova."

"Well, I'm not entirely sure about that either," admitted Huber sheepishly. "I couldn't have even repeated the oath in the condition I was in just them. But this guy took me somewhere to sleep it off for a few days. Then he took me to a recruiting office and had a few words with the recruiter-another CPO. I don't know how he fixed it, but I passed the physical and found myself in the Navy."

"The 'Network' again, I imagine," said Helen and Huber nodded his head. "That CPO must have taken a real shine to you to run a risk like that."

"Yeah, and I never even knew his name. I'm sure he told it to me at some point early on, but it didn't stick. I don't know why he did it."

"Maybe he saw something in you, Randy. Something even you didn't know was there."

"Well, maybe. But it was a good thing he wasn't around a few weeks later. I was cursing him to the high heavens by that time," chuckled Huber. "I was just a tad disillusioned when they didn't give me my own ship right away. It wasn't quite what I had been expecting. It's a good thing enlisted personnel aren't allowed to resign or I would have run straight back to my little black box. I almost did run anyway."

"Yeah, I can see that it might have been a bit of a let down after saving the galaxy," said Helen. "So how'd you finally end up here?"

"After Basic, I got into computer maintenance. My 'colorful' background did me some good after all. I still wasn't too happy with life, but I fell in with some good people and after a while I actually started to feel like I belonged somewhere. For the first time in my life I had people around me that I actually cared about and who cared about me. It was a good feeling. After that, I did pretty well. I got a few boosts in rank and some advanced training and felt like I was doing something worthwhile. I still wanted to get out and save the galaxy, but I was never accepted for shipboard duty.

"My big break was when I got assigned as a computer tech at the Advanced Tactical Course. I was in heaven; I got to play with all the newest toys-to make certain they were working properly, of course."

"Of course," said Helen with a grin.

"Old habits die hard, though, and I started spending my off duty hours 'checking out' a lot of simulators that did not really need checking out. Anyway, to make a long story short, one of the instructors caught me at it late one night. She was about ready to put me on report when she noticed I had just finished running a sim she had designed, and she saw my score on it."

"Good, huh?"

"The best she'd seen so far, apparently. Instead of putting me on report, she started tutoring me and after a year or so, she put me in for OCS. I did well enough there that I got accepted for LAC training and here I am."

Huber leaned back and sighed. He seemed worn out by his confession, but there was a look of relief on his face as well.

"So that's the story of my misspent youth and my rise to fame and glory, Skipper. If you've changed your mind about wanting me for your exec, I wouldn't blame you."

"I meant what I said, Randy. This doesn't change anything as far as I'm concerned." Helen stared into Huber's eyes and smiled. Then she held out her hand.

Randy Huber took it and smiled in turn. "Thanks, Helen. Thanks a lot."

After a few moments they let go. Helen turned to look at her crew enjoying themselves. "They are all good people; I'm a lucky girl."

"Well, I don't have to ask you how _you_ got here, Skipper," said Huber. "I've read up on your career pretty thoroughly-it's a bit better documented than mine. I don't suppose the official record has everything in it, but there's enough to tell me that we're the lucky ones."

"No, everything's not in the record, Randy," said Helen. Her gaze shifted to Gryphon, floating out the viewport. "Not everything by half."

"Maybe you can save the other half for some other time, Skipper. Shall we tell the others about your promotion?"

"No reason not to, I guess."

Huber got to his feet. "All right, boys and girls, listen up. I've got some more good news. Whelan, get your lazy carcass over here-you're about to become a rich man!"

**Chapter Eight**

**E**nsign Alby Hinsworth quickly looked over the report on his screen, attached his signature, and then hit the "send" button. _I wonder by how many minutes this report will shorten the war? Surely knowing the details of Peep shipboard garbage management will give us a decisive edge in any future engagements! It certainly is satisfying to know that I'm doing my part to win this war!_

Alby checked the time and then logged off from his terminal and pushed his chair back with a sigh. Another week of shuffling data was coming to an end. The young woman in the cubicle across the aisle caught sight of the motion and turned her chair to face him.

"Just about quitting time, Alby. Got any big plans for the weekend?"

Alby looked in her direction. "Not really, Tina. I'll probably head home. I should really stick close considering the situation."

"Yeah, it's a shame about your grandfather," said Ensign Tina Dougherty. "I hope he pulls through."

"He's been through worse. He's one of those types who's just too mean to die."

Tina smiled, but she shook her head. "That's a terrible thing to say about your grandfather, Alby."

"Oh not really, I think he's proud of how mean he is-just giving him his due. How about you? Got any plans?"

"Lieutenant McLean asked me to come in for a few hours tomorrow to take care of some of the backload. Beyond that, nothing much."

"He never asked me," said Alby with a frown.

"Well, I don't suppose he would have..." said Tina awkwardly.

Alby's frown became deeper. He rolled his chair to the cubicle's entrance and glanced up and down the aisle.

"You mean because he doesn't want to ask the grandson of the Second Space Lord to put in extra time," stated Alby.

Tina Dougherty just shrugged. "I don't know for sure if that's it, Alby, but I guess you could be right."

"Of course I'm right," said Alby in a low voice. "You've seen how he tip-toes around me. He's two full grades my senior and he acts like I'm an admiral or something. This is ridiculous! There's a war on and we should all try and pull our weight as a team- the Academy taught me that much, if nothing else."

"Don't be so hard on McLean. We commoners have to watch our steps around you aristocratic types, Alby. Not everyone in the Peerage is as easy-going as you. The wrong step around the wrong person could ruin a career-and your grandmother _is_ just upstairs."

"You don't seem to have any problem with it, Tina."

"I've gotten to know you better than McLean has. Plus I heard about you when I was at the Academy. Even though I was a class ahead, I couldn't help but hear about some of your...activities. Anyone with your sense of humor could not be too bad to work with." Tina smiled. "I wish I could have been there during the Great Frog Attack. I saw the tape, of course-who hasn't?-but it's not the same as being there."

"Well, the actual event has been exaggerated in the re-telling, I think," said Alby, smiling in return. "But it was fun at the time. And thanks, Tina-for being my friend, I mean."

"My pleasure, Alby. But surely you realize I'm only doing it so I can marry you and get my greedy claws on your title and the Hinsworth fortune, don't you? Or maybe it's to advance my career in the Navy, I can't remember which."

Alby laughed. "At least you're honest about it. But wouldn't old Bernie be a tad jealous? How are things going between you two, by the way?"

"Oh that's right, there is Bernard, isn't there?" said Tina. "I guess it was the career advancement I wanted after all. Too bad, Alby, you are kind of cute. Bernie and I are doing fine. In fact I'm supposed to meet him for dinner tonight." She checked her chrono. "Quitting time, I better get going or I'll be late. See you, Alby."

"Bye, Tina, have a good time." Alby watched his co-worker leave.

He sat in his cubicle for another minute or so and then got up. He picked up his compad and pressed a certain button on it. Then he inserted it into the holder on his belt, took his beret off the coat hook, and walked out. His cubicle was just one of a hundred or more in this section of the building. As he walked along the aisles he saw many people still at work. He reached his supervisor's office and stuck his head in the door.

"Lieutenant? I'm leaving now. If you need me for anything, I'll be available."

Lieutenant Walter McLean looked up from his own terminal. "Thank you, Mr. Hinsworth. I doubt we'll need you for anything before next week. Enjoy your weekend."

"Thank you, sir," said Alby. Then he turned and headed for the lifts. _Half the people are working late and others will be in on the weekend and he doesn't need me for anything. Oh well, it could be worse._

The floor Alby's office was on was about a third of the way up the kilometer-high tower that was occupied by the Bureau of Planning. The lift whisked him the rest of the way up to the roof-top landing platform. He checked himself out through the security station and then walked across the open roof to the waiting aircar. The crest of the Hinsworth family was emblazoned on the side and the door opened as he approached.

"Hi, Clarice, how are you this afternoon?" he asked as he got inside and shut the door.

"Very well, sir," answered the driver. "Where to, sir? Your apartment, or do you wish to go straight home?"

Alby was tempted to give her some completely different destination just to throw her out of the usual routine, but he resisted the urge. "Straight home, I guess, Clarice. Have you heard anything new?"

"No, sir, no change. The Duke is still in a coma. I'm terribly sorry, sir."

"He'll pull through, he's done it before."

"Yes, sir, I hope so."

The aircar took off and swung into a traffic lane heading towards Somerton. Shortly, the city of Landing was left behind and the 'car accelerated rapidly to its cruising speed. At eight hundred kilometers per hour, Somerton was only thirty minutes away. Alby looked back through the rear window. Afternoon sunlight glinted off several other 'cars going the same direction. Alby knew that one of them was his security detachment.

During the ride, Alby found himself thinking about his grandfather. In spite of his assurances to other people, Alby did not really think the Duke was going to make it this time. Several years ago that fact would not have disturbed Alby greatly. Now he was not sure how he felt.

Alby had never liked his grandfather much and for a period after the Old Man had bundled him off to the Academy, Alby had truly hated him. But things had changed since he got back from his 'prentice cruise. The Duke had treated him differently and Alby's own feelings were different and he was still trying to sort out just what it all meant.

The Duke had talked to Alby as if he were an adult rather than a child. Still not exactly an equal, but he had seemed interested in what Alby had to say and about his opinions. He seemed genuinely curious about Alby's 'prentice cruise. If Alby had not known better, he would have almost thought the Duke was proud of him..

.

This changed attitude-and the Duke's increased frailty-had softened Alby's own feelings. He still could not quite forgive the Old Man for what he had done, but he could not find it in himself to hate him anymore either.

Alby had also started looking at his grandfather as a man and a leader-not just his father's father. He had paid little or no attention to the Duke's activities when he was a child. Politics held no interest for him and all the trappings of wealth and privilege had seemed the normal state of affairs. Lately, however, he had begun to realize that the person he had always considered a scary old tyrant was actually a great man. Not necessarily a good man or a good parent or grandparent, but one of the leaders of the Star Kingdom. Alby had dug into the records and was amazed at all the important legislation his grandfather had initiated. He was highly respected by his peers and even admired by his rivals. The people who worked for him did so out of loyalty. The aircar driver's expressions of concern and sympathy were sincere. It all made Alby feel a little guilty about his own feelings.

"There we are, sir, almost home," said the driver. Alby looked through the forward windscreen and saw the familiar rooftops of the Somerton estate rushing towards them. The driver decelerated sharply and circled the compound of buildings. When the aircar had shed enough of its velocity, it settled gently to the ground in front of the main house. Alby could see the security detachment's car landing on the other side, near the garage.

[Scene Break]

Alby lay back in the floating lounge chair and let the ripples in the swimming pool gently rock him. A cool drink was at his side, pleasant music soothed his ears, and several servants were standing nearby if he should want anything.

Alby was bored, and the irony of it did not escape him.

When the Duke and his maternal grandmother, Admiral Patricia Givens, had forced him to go to the Academy he had been hurt and angry and frightened. Hurt that his mother and father had not intervened on his behalf. Angry that he was being asked to give up his very comfortable lifestyle to appease the egos of his grandparents and frightened about what might happen to him once he was in the Navy. Well, frightened was not really the word. Alby had been terrified. Alby's uncle, Given's son, had been killed in action and Alby was convinced the same would happen to him. He was absolutely sure that once he graduated from the Academy, Givens would see to it that he was sent into combat to carry on the glorious traditions of the Givens family-and die just as his uncle had.

Alby _had_ nearly died on his 'prentice cruise-along with everyone else-but since then nothing had gone according to his dire predictions. Admiral Givens had gotten him assigned to a data interpretation unit in Naval Intelligence. It was a standard two watches on, four off, job in an office tower in the city of Landing. He had a comfortable apartment in the city and his home was only a half hour away. His lifestyle had hardly suffered at all and he was as safe as any citizen could be in wartime. His grandmother had hinted that as soon as she could justify it, Alby would be kicked upstairs into one of the planning units and ultimately onto some admiral's staff. That might not be as safe or as comfortable, but it was probably a few years away and beat skulking around on some old cruiser no matter how you looked at it. No, things had not been nearly as bad as Alby had feared. In fact, they were better than he had dared hope.

And he was bored.

The Academy had changed Alby Hinsworth. That was one of the other things he had feared. He had _liked_ the way he was. What would the Academy do to him? It had changed him and in ways he would have never expected. On reflection, he realized it was not the Academy but rather the people he met there that had changed him. Patric and Anny and Helen, they had changed him. Growing up he never had any close friends. Suddenly he had three. He had tried to keep it from happening; tried to keep his distance. His three roommates were all totally dedicated to becoming naval officers. How could he be friends with them when that was exactly what he did _not_ want to become? But he had failed. They had become his friends. Closer friends than Alby would have believed possible. They had stood by him and stuck their necks out for him and ultimately, he had done the same for them. And that had changed Alby Hinsworth-forever.

The image of his friends boarding their shuttles on the space station-going off to the war and leaving him behind-would not leave his mind.

_What's the matter with me? Going off to war is the last thing I want! I've got the best thing I could possibly ask for right now-don't screw it up!_

A faint beeping from his compad roused him from his thoughts. He paddled over to where the device was lying on a towel at the edge of the pool. _Probably another letter from Abigail._ That should have made him smile, but it did not. He was realizing that his friendship with Abigail was a doomed one. Even though her family was very upper class in terms of Grayson society, there was no way his parents would let them marry. Whoever Alby married would be someone selected for the political advantage the union would bring and Abigail just did not fit the bill. Not that Alby was interested in marrying anyone at this point! Unfortunately, Grayson customs would not allow them to remain just friends. In that man-poor society, pressure on a young woman to find a husband was tremendous. She could not afford to waste time on someone who was not going to marry her. She had been dropping a few hints lately and her mothers had as well. It was a shame, Alby liked Abigail.

He grabbed the 'pad off the towel and flipped it open. He smiled when he saw that it was not a letter from Abigail, but rather, one from Helen. Helen had been the most distant of his friends from the Academy, but then Helen was distant with everyone. In spite of that, the fact that she was the closest physically meant that she had exchanged more letters with Alby than Anny and Patric. He quickly read over it. It was the same sort of vague stuff that was all the auto-censor function would allow. He started writing a letter back to her but quickly became frustrated by those same censoring restrictions.

Alby suddenly stopped writing and a grin started to grow on his face. His three roommates would have recognized that grin and what it probably meant. The censoring software built in to all military-use word processors probably made a certain amount of sense. The Brass didn't want ratings writing their family and telling them they were about to ship out on _HMS Fill-In-The-Blank_ and then have those relatives blabbing it around until some neutral-power newsie picked up on it. It was a minor thing, but battles are often won or lost over such minor things. No, it probably made sense, but Alby took it as a personal affront.

_Why should I let some stupid bit of software tell me what I can write to my friends? We're trained officers and we know when and where to keep our mouths shut! It seems to me that I should do some about this terrible state of affairs!_

Alby started digging into the programs that made up the word processor. As he got deeper and deeper into it, he realized that it was far more thorough-and subtle-than he had expected, but that only made it a more enticing challenge.

_Very clever! Encryption codes inserted throughout the document. Not just some header or footer that could be counterfeited. Whoever did this knew his stuff! Not that that will stop me..._

But it almost did. The sun rose past noon and sank towards the horizon and Alby floated about the pool, oblivious to everything around him. He tried one mode of attack after another to try and get around the built-in safeguards. He could have just deleted the function, but that was pointless. The monitoring software in the mail system would not send the letter through the express route without the proper authorization codes. Somehow Alby had to alter it so that it would insert those codes but without telling him what he could or could not write. It was difficult and frustrating and Alby was enjoying himself more than he had in months.

Finally, as the afternoon shadows were getting long, he thought he had it beat. He sent a few trial messages to himself, routing them through different pathways. They all came through without a problem. That meant nothing, really. Working for ONI as he did, he realized that if the system had detected a problem it probably would not have stopped the messages. Rather it would have alerted someone that something was amiss and sent the message on its way. A security agent could well be on his way, too. Alby was vaguely aware that he was doing something that could really get him into serious trouble, but it did not deter him a bit. This sort of thing was in his blood and he had denied himself too long.

He ran a few more tests and by sending a very long document and carefully noting the 'sent' and 'arrival' time, he felt confident that the monitoring software was just passing his message through unread like any other bit of pre-censored mail. Only time would tell. After five hours work, he could now send uncensored mail to his friends. That was fine, but that was not really what he wanted. He wanted to get uncensored mail from _them_. He already knew what _he_ was doing. He wanted to know what _they_ were doing!

_Now, how do I get this to Anny and Patric and Helen? More importantly, how do I get them to install it? Knowing their noble hearts, they would probably refuse to do anything like this. If they knew about it... Aha! That's the ticket! It will have to be self-executing, like a virus..._

"Alby, Darling? You've been out here almost all day. You missed lunch."

Alby looked up with a start and knocked his empty glass into the water. His mother was standing near the edge of the pool dressed in a robe.

"Hi, Mother. I was working on something and I sort of lost track of time," said Alby sheepishly, recovering his glass at the same time.

"Navy work? This is your day off."

"Err, well, I guess you could call it Navy work. But some work is fun."

"I suppose it can be," admitted his mother. She unfastened her robe and took it off. She had a rather skimpy bathing suit on underneath. "I think I'll join you for a few minutes and then we can go to dinner."

"Uh, sure, that sounds good, I'm getting rather pruned as it is." Alby stared at his mother, trying to think how long it had been since he had seen her in a bathing suit-and what sort of suit it had been. With the prolong anti-aging treatment, people retained their youthful looks for a long time. Constance Givens-Hinsworth was not old, even by pre-prolong standards, but Alby was rather shocked at just how young-and attractive she still looked. _Mothers aren't supposed to look like that! _ He watched her walk around to the diving board and make a graceful dive into the pool. She surfaced and swam slowly the length of the pool. Alby thought guiltily that if she wasn't his mother, he'd be tempted to make a pass at her.

"How's Grandfather doing?" he asked as she floated past. He nodded towards the wing of the mansion where an intensive care unit had been set up.

"No change. His vital signs fluctuate a bit from time to time, but that's about all."

Alby wondered how his mother really felt about the Duke. She had always been very respectful to him, but had never shown much affection. Then another thought struck him.

"Mother? How's Father taking this?"

His mother stopped swimming and came over to stand next to him. The water came up to her neck.

"It's hard on him Alby. Very hard. I think he would be grateful if you spent some time with him."

"I guess the prospect of becoming the duke would be pretty daunting," said Alby.

His mother tilted her head and frowned. "I suppose that is weighing on him, too, but that's not what's so hard. Alby, his father is dying. We can pray that he'll recover from this latest crisis, but it's only a matter of time and your father knows it."

She came closer and put her hand on his arm. "I know you've never been close to your grandfather, Alby, and it may be hard to understand that your father loves him. But he does love him. His mother died before you were born. That was very hard on him, too. You are too young to have thought about it, and God willing it will be a long time before you have to, but you never stop needing your parents. No matter how well prepared you might think you are to face their deaths, you find that you are not prepared. You can never be prepared. It is a very hard thing."

Alby was stunned. He never had thought about it before. His parents had always been there for him-and the always would be, right? His grandparents, the Duke and Admiral Givens, had just been incidental players in his life-at least until they sent him to the Academy. He thought about how he would feel if his father-or his mother-was in there dying instead of the Duke. He tried to imagine those feelings in his father...

"I...I'm sorry, Mother," he said, with a lump in his throat. "I guess I've been pretty selfish, haven't I?"

"No, Alby. You've just been growing up. That's never easy either. Now let's go inside and get ready for dinner."

**Chapter Nine**

**A**cting Lieutenant (Senior Grade) Helen Zilwicki read over the letter she was writing on her computer terminal and tried to decide what she should say next.

_Dear Aunt Sylvie,_

_ Thanks to a mutual friend, I can now give you a fuller picture of what I've been doing and what I'm going to be doing soon. I know I can trust you with 'classified' information and I also trust you won't look too closely at the activities of that mutual friend!_

Helen grinned and shook her head. A week ago a letter had arrived from Alby. It had a file attached that seemed to be just a still holo-image of Alby lounging in a swimming pool. But when Helen opened the file, her monitor had flashed and after a few moments a tiny, animated Alby Hinsworth had informed her that the auto-censor function on her computer had just been 'upgraded' so she could write more detailed letters to him! He warned her that any attempt to delete the upgrade could have serious consequences for her computer-and probably him as well. Helen was still a little shocked that he had been able to do this to her from the pool of his estate on Manticore, but it _was_ nice to be able to write a real letter again.

She looked around. It was also nice to have a cabin to herself. When Commander Mitchell had moved out, Lieutenant Adams had moved to his quarters and Helen had moved into Adam's. As a squadron commander, she rated a room to herself. It was sheer bliss after the circus with Doris.

_ As I hinted in my last letter, I have been given a squadron to command and my promotion to Lt.(s.g.) is in the works-or at least so I'm told. I'm finding it a great challenge, but I have a fine group of people to work with and we are becoming a real team. I have also been well prepared for this by you and the other instructors at the Academy-my sincere thanks to you all._

_ My exec is a man named Randy Huber. He came up from the ranks, but he's everything I could want in a first officer, and he's a good friend. I'm quite proud of my little ship. We call her _"Black Magic". _I'm becoming very proud of my squadron, too. Last week the Captain gave the squadrons permission to adopt nicknames to go along with their official designations. Unfortunately, my people have decided they want my name in there somewhere. "Zilwicki" is a tough one to work with, so the suggestions seem to be stuck between "Zilwicki's Zephyrs" and "Helen's Hellions". I can't say I'm terribly pleased with either. I guess if it makes my people feel good about themselves, that's the main point._

_ I've been experimenting with some ideas I have for new formations and tactics. I think I have come up with something that could cut down on losses during combat. I hope I get a chance to try it out. _

Helen shook her head again, but this time she did not smile. She knew that Admiral Thayer was very worried by the idea of her serving on the tiny, fragile LACs. Helen tried to think of something to say to ease Thayer's fears, but she knew that her godmother was far too experienced an officer to be deceived with any soothing words of reassurance.

The truth of the matter was, of course, that Admiral Thayer had every reason to worry. The LACs _were_ dangerous and Helen had an excellent chance of being killed. It was a risk and Helen was well aware of it. But it was a calculated tactical decision-just like all her other ones.

Helen got up from her desk and paced back and forth in her cabin. She liked to walk when she was thinking and the LAC's hanger crews had become used to the sight of her walking the two-kilometer circuit of the hanger bay gallery at all hours. She would have liked to go out there now. Trying to tell Aunt Sylvie what was in her mind-why she had chosen LAC service-was not coming easily, but this letter could not wait.

Helen was in a hurry-not just to finish the letter-and the fastest way to her goal was through the LACs.

Just what that goal was had taken Helen a long time to figure out. For years, for twelve years after her mother was killed, Helen's only goal had been to hurt the Peeps. To kill as many of them as she could. To make widows and widowers and orphans of the Peeps back on Haven and to make corpses of any that crossed her path. To make the Peeps suffer they way they had made her suffer. Revenge had been her goal and the hate inside her burned to exact it. There had been no room inside her for anything else-not even the people who loved her. She had trained herself-sacrificed her childhood-to become the perfect Peep-killing machine.

Her 'prentice cruise had given her the opportunity to begin taking her revenge. Fate put her at the tactical station of a cruiser in a desperate fight. It was her fingers that pressed the firing key and decided the battle. Her fingers that sent the command that killed nearly a thousand Peeps in a few seconds. Hers. It was what she had dreamed of for years. But suddenly it wasn't enough. She wanted more-or she thought she did. When the opportunity to board the Peep ship arose, she seized it eagerly. Killing Peeps who were just blips on the tactical display was not enough, she wanted to kill them face to face.

And she had gotten her chance.

Helen stopped pacing and closed her eyes. She could still see the wounded, sobbing, terrified Peep in the sights of her flechette gun. One squeeze of the trigger would have skewered him with dozens of razor sharp darts. She had wanted to squeeze-Oh, how she had wanted to!

But she had not squeezed the trigger.

To this day she did not know why she had not. For months after the fight she had puzzled over what had happened. Something had changed inside her. Maybe it had happened there, on the bridge of the Peep cruiser. Maybe it was when she was kneeling by Anny's blood-soaked body, begging her not to die. Maybe when she was in sick bay, sobbing in her Aunt Sylvie's arms. Maybe it had happened earlier, back at the Academy; she did not know. Whenever, something had changed inside her. Some small space had been opened up. A space that would allow something other than hate into her heart. The love of Anny and Patric and Alby-and Sylvia Thayer-had found a chink in her armor and forced their way inside. Helen could love and be loved again. And some of the hate had been pushed out.

Some, but not all.

Helen still hated the Peeps. She hated who they were and what they had done. Not just the killing of her mother, but their whole corrupt society. Their years of conquest and pillage. Their crimes against everything decent. Yes, she hated the Peeps.

And she still wanted revenge.

But after much soul-searching Helen had realized that her revenge no longer meant simply killing as many Peeps as she could. If the situation demanded it, she would kill them, and without shedding a single tear. But killing for the sake of killing was no longer a part of what she wanted.

What she wanted was justice.

To be sure, she wanted her own personal brand of justice. And that justice would be revenge in itself. What Helen wanted was the total defeat of the Peoples' Republic. She wanted their fleet smashed, their conquests stripped away, their leaders humbled. And she wanted justice for those leaders as well. If that meant a war crimes trial, fine. If it meant that their own people rose up and hung them from the lamp posts of New Paris, that was fine with Helen Zilwicki, too. She wanted the Peeps brought to their knees and prevented from ever doing what they had done again.

And she wanted to be there to see it.

Helen wanted to be part of the instrument that brought down the Peeps. She knew she was not going to be able have much influence on events as a lieutenant and that was why she was in a hurry.

Helen sat back down at her desk and tried to resume the letter.

_I know you were not terribly happy with my choice of LAC service, not just because of the danger, but because of the uncertainty of where this career track might lead. I understand your concerns, but I think you can understand my desire to be in a command position. Being a junior watch officer on a ship is not something that I'm well suited for-I guess I take after you in that._

If Helen had a weakness as an officer, it was her frustration in serving under people with more rank but less skill. Even at the Academy she had felt it. In the simulators, the cadets all took turns at the various bridge positions. Helen always felt a sense of frustration any time she was in any position other than the command chair or the tactical station. It was not really a simple desire to be in charge, it was a need to see the job done as well as it possibly could. Watching someone else in command when Helen knew she could do the job better was very trying. She supposed that if she ever served under someone with equal or superior skills she would not feel that frustration-but that had not happened yet.

So Helen wanted rank and after careful evaluation, she had decided that LAC service would get her that rank faster than any other way. Already her decision seemed to be paying off. Less than a year out of the Academy and she was a senior grade lieutenant (or would be soon, hopefully). She had a squadron, and after seeing some action, she fully expected to have a group. A part of her had almost expected Commander Lowell to give her One Group instead of turning it over to Adams. He had not, but once she had a group she would set her sights on one of the new wings being formed. Commander and maybe junior grade captain before she was twenty. She knew it was presumptuous and egotistical, but she also knew she could do the job and do it better than most. Helen had complete confidence in her own abilities, and that was the beauty of the LACs: the pool of people qualified to command them was so small that they would have to take whoever was the most qualified-no matter how young they might be.

Once she had her own wing, her plans became less clear. Unfortunately, there was no standard career track for LAC officers, the whole thing was just too new for many precedents to be set. Outside the LAC forces, the procedure was well established. An officer served on a ship or ships, acquiring skills and working up the rank structure. At some point they were given their own ship to command, usually a small one. Then as they proved themselves, they would get progressively bigger ships. If they had what it took, eventually they would get additional training and ultimately flag rank.

The LACs did not work that way, and despite the opportunity for rapid promotions initially, there was a real danger of running into a dead end later on. Once reaching wing command, there was nowhere else to go within the LACs. There was no larger tactical organization than the wing. The admiralty might not consider LAC experience a qualification to command a squadron of larger warship and at the same time it seemed unlikely that they would transfer an experienced LAC wing commander to the bridge of a destroyer or cruiser either. There was the distinct possibility that wing command would be the end of the road: not suited for anything else and too valuable to transfer.

What Helen was hoping for, was that after proving herself as a wing commander, she might get sent for staff training and perhaps the Advanced Tactical Course. Then she could end up on some admiral's staff coordinating LAC operations at a fleet level. From there, flag rank was within reach-even if she had never commanded a major warship. It might be a bit of a long shot, but she had the skill and the connections to make it happen. Admiral Thayer could help and Helen had no problems with using Alby's long-ago offer to get Admiral Givens on her side. Helen had promised herself that she was going to become the youngest admiral in the history of the Royal Navy-or die trying.

It was possible-if she was given the time she needed. And that was her fear: that she would not have the time.

Helen felt a little guilty that her biggest fear was also the biggest hope for billions of other people:

That the war would end.

Helen did not consider herself a warmonger, even though her entire life had been shaped by the war. When peace came she would rejoice along with everyone else-if it was the peace that she wanted. A peace that came with victory-total victory. Helen's great fear was that the war would end without the defeat of the Peoples' Republic of Haven that she craved.

And she could see it happening.

Helen was a tactician rather than a strategist, but she could analyze the strategic situation as well as her limited data would allow. It seemed very evident to her that the Peeps were losing the war. That was a good thing, of course, but they were not losing quickly enough-or perhaps it was too quickly, Helen was not sure.

The Peeps had started losing on the war's first day, fourteen years ago. The technologically superior and better skilled Manticorans had driven back their first offensives with heavy losses and pursued them deep into their own territory. But then things had bogged down. Thirteen more years of fighting had scarcely gained Manticore and her allies as much as they had won in the first year. Still, the situation was becoming increasingly desperate for the Peeps. Their huge initial numerical superiority had been worn away. Between their losses and the Alliance's greater building capacity, the Peeps were now outnumbered, and it would continue to get worse.

About the time of Helen's first form at the Academy, the Peeps had attempted a limited counter-offensive. While its material gains had been slight, it had rocked the confidence of the Alliance and emboldened the Peeps. But all of that was undone by the miraculous return of Honor Harrington from the Peep's prison planet of Hades. Not only had it been a humiliating defeat for the Peeps, but the revelations of Amos Parnell, the former chief of the Peep navy, had caused an upheaval through most of the galaxy. There was political turmoil in the Solarian League where the sharp division between those who supported Haven and those who favored Manticore was widening into a gaping chasm. The Andermani Empire was on the verge of entering the war on the side of the Alliance, and Bad Things seemed to be happening inside the Peoples' Republic itself.

There was a total clamp-down on news coming out of Haven and no one was even sure who was in charge anymore. There had been rumors of a coup attempt by Esther McQueen. Rumors that Robert Pierre's government had collapsed. Rumors of riots and massacres in New Paris. Whatever the truth, the effects could be seen on the front lines. The Peeps seemed to be in a state of confusion that matched what had happened at the start of the war.

A second Peep counter-offensive had been attempted about the time Helen was returning from her 'prentice cruise. Unlike the earlier one, this was poorly planned and executed-perhaps a result of political pressure instead of military necessity. Admiral White Haven, along with Admiral Harrington, had anticipated the Peeps' move and trapped it, inflicting heavy losses. They had followed up with an offensive of their own which had captured a half dozen Peep bases and pushed the front lines thirty light years closer to Haven.

Haven itself was now within striking range of the Alliance fleets. Helen could see that the war was entering its final stages. Haven, like Manticore, had a huge reserve fleet guarding it, along with massive fortifications. Taking it would not be easy, but the Peeps could take no chances: the fall of Haven meant the collapse of their empire and the loss of the war. As the Alliance massed its fleets against Haven, the Peeps would have no choice but to concentrate their own forces there to match. As more and more of the Peep fleet became pinned down in the defense of Haven, the Alliance could use its superior numbers to run rampant through the Peep's empire, further weakening them. Eventually, Haven would be isolated and Manticore could release its own home fleet for the final assault.

If there was a final assault.

Even Helen flinched at the thought of that bloodbath. It could easily be the largest battle in human history-ten times larger than any space battle ever fought. A _thousand_ ships of the wall, hundreds of fortresses, God knew how many escorts and LACs. And a butcher's bill in the tens of millions-even if Haven itself was untouched.

If Helen flinched, might not the leaders of the Alliance? Rather than have so much blood on their hands, might they accept a negotiated settlement? Faced with total defeat, might not the Peeps ask for terms? Might not a war-weary Alliance accept less than total victory?

Helen could see it happening. It might still be a few years away, but it could happen. And then what? Haven would be allowed to retain some vestige of its empire. Its fleet, the second most powerful in this section of the galaxy, would still exist. And all of the greed and stupidity that sent the Peeps on their road to conquest in the first place would still be there.

No victory. No justice. No revenge. And they might have to do this all over again twenty years hence. It was Helen's personal nightmare.

She knew it was slightly absurd for a lieutenant, not even twenty years old, to be worrying about issues of grand strategy like this, but she could not help it. And the only thing she could do was to try and get as far up the rank structure as she could as quickly as she could. If she was on some important admiral's staff, perhaps she could influence his thoughts somehow. And even if she failed and peace came, perhaps she could help mold the policies of the peacetime navy and prepare for a renewed conflict later. It was all vague and uncertain, but she was doing the only thing she could. To do nothing had never been an option for Helen Zilwicki.

Helen sighed and shook her head yet again. She checked the time and realized that she had to finish this letter very soon.

_This will probably be my last letter for a while. We finished up our training two days ago and _Hydra_ is now ready for active duty. We and our escort are on our way to the wormhole junction. I do not know what our mission will be, but I get the impression that we are not going to be attached immediately to one of the main battle fleets. We are rendezvousing with additional ships and I am guessing that we will be used for some deep raids against the Peep hinterlands. I could be completely wrong, of course. _

_ We'll be dropping out of hyper near the Junction in just a few minutes. I'll have to transmit this letter then, or it might be a while before this can get sent._

_ I'm having trouble finding the right words, Aunt Sylvie. I just want to thank you and let you know how much I love you. I'll try to be careful and come home to you. But if not, you'll know I did my duty. Farewell for now._

_Your Loving Goddaughter,_

_Helen_

She quickly re-read the letter and was about to hit the 'send' key when she was suddenly blinking back tears. A minute or more passed while she thought of all that had happened between her and her godmother. _She's been so much more than that to me._ With a shaking hand she moved the cursor back up to the next-to-the-last line. She carefully deleted the first three letters of the third word and just as carefully capitalized the letter that was now first. A tear trickled down her cheek, but she smiled as she sent the letter on its way.

[Scene Break]

A short while later, Lieutenant Helen Zilwicki left her cabin and headed for the forward observation blister. While she was walking, she heard the announcement to prepare for translation to normal space. _Drat! I wanted to see that! Oh well, there is still the wormhole transit: I really want to see that._ A few moments later came that familiar twinge in the pit of her stomach that signaled the return to N-space. For all her shipboard time, Helen had never really had the opportunity to just _look_ at a hyper transit. She had always been involved in some duty that distracted her from the wonder of it. This time, she had no official responsibility and she intended to take advantage of it.

It was quite a walk, but eventually, she reached a small compartment at the bow of the ship, nestled between two of the forward missile tubes. An armorplast bubble extended out from the skin of the ship and provided a spectacular view. She noted the meter-thick blast door that would seal off the bubble when the ship was at battlestations. Several other people were already there, but after exchanging nods, they all returned their attention to the spectacle in front of them.

The armorplast gave off virtually no reflection, and was so perfectly transparent that it was like Helen was standing in space. Thousands of stars could be seen. As an experienced spacer, it did not seem the least bit unusual to Helen that they did not twinkle in the slightest. The stars in the vicinity of Manticore were not especially numerous so most were faint. Only a handful shown brightly. There were many bright specks in the sky-but they were not stars.

Helen took out her pair of electronic binoculars. They were very powerful-and very expensive. They were a birthday gift from her father. She put them to her eyes and looked at some of the bright specks. Even though they were tens-or even hundreds-of thousands of kilometers away, she could clearly make out that they were starships. Some of the closer vessels-Hydra's own escorts-were distinct enough that she could tell their class. The huge, bright white vessels were easy to spot at this range, even in the faint light of the distant Manticore-A star. If she had been sitting at the powerful optical sights of one of the adjacent missile tubes, she could have probably read the hull numbers on the closer ships. For centuries it had been standard practice in most navies to paint their ships white or a light gray. Gravitic sensors, radar and ladar had made ships detectable at such long ranges that visual detection was rarely even thought of. But in recent years, improvements in stealth technology had let smaller ships-like the LACs-get in very close without being detected. People had started looking out their viewports again. Royal Navy Intelligence was convinced that at least one LAC operation had been detected because the Peeps had spotted them visually. Now all the LACs were painted black. Helen knew that newly constructed destroyers and cruisers were being painted black as well. She wondered how long it would be before the whole fleet was black.

As Helen swept her gaze across the sky, she spotted a dense clump of bright specks that seemed to be closing on _Hydra_. After a few minutes it was clear that these were the other ships they were to meet up with. _Let's see, it looks like three dreadnoughts, maybe six battlecruisers, two dozen cruisers and destroyers and a few fast supply ships. Yes, a raid for sure._ Combined with Hydra and her escort, it made a powerful little task force. Nothing much compared to the battlefleets, but if the dreadnoughts had the new inertial compensators, just perfect for smashing a Peep garrison force.

The new arrivals joined up with _Hydra's_ group and they all headed for an even larger clump of specks that were growing brighter directly ahead.

The Manticore Wormhole Junction.

The Junction was a source of much of Manticore's wealth, but it was also an invaluable strategic highway. When approached in precisely the right fashion, a starship would be instantly transported hundreds of light years to one of the five known wormhole termini, saving months of hyperspace travel. Thousands of merchant ships used the wormhole each year and the tolls charged by the Manticorans for its use helped pay for the enormous cost of the war. The wormhole also allowed Manticore and the Alliance to quickly shift forces over large distances.

Helen did not know their exact destination, but she was guessing that they would shortly take the wormhole link to Trevor's Star. That was the major base from which the drive on Haven was being mounted. It was possible that they would be heading for Basilisk instead. That was much farther from the front, but if they were going to be doing some raiding, it was not out of the question that they might come in from that direction.

Early in the war the Peeps had held the Trevor's Star terminus and an attack on Manticore directly through the wormhole was a distinct possibility. To prevent this, massive fortifications had been constructed at the Junction, and these were coming into Helen's view now. Her binoculars could pick out the shapes of the huge fortresses. They formed several concentric globes around the region of space occupied by the Junction. She knew that the outer sphere was fully manned. The inner sphere, which would almost certainly be destroyed in a serious attack, had been largely automated and carried relatively few crewmen. They would not be as effective in a battle, but their main function was to buy time for the rest of the defenders to come to full alert. Helen had a fascination with the theory of the attack and defense of fortified places. If Fortress Command had not been such a dead-end career track, she might have chosen that instead of the LACs just to have a chance to tinker with her ideas.

As they drew closer, Helen could see numerous ships in the area, too. They seemed small compared to the fortresses, but many were merchant ships that out-massed _Hydra_ and her consorts.

A tiny flash caught her eye and she trained her binoculars on it. By the time she had focused in, the flash had vanished, but there was now a ship there. She continued to watch and after a minute another flash appeared and she saw a ship emerging from the wormhole. The three hundred kilometer disk of its Warshawski sails blazing with blue lighting as the energy picked up during its transit bled off into normal space. Helen continued to stare as ship after ship emerged. It was spectacular and beautiful.

Helen was so mesmerized by the sight that she almost failed to notice that her own task force was preparing to transit. The ships were forming themselves into a single long line. Only a few thousand kilometers ahead was one of the dreadnoughts. Helen put her binoculars on maximum magnifications and thought she could make out the letters on the stern hammerhead. They were too tiny to read however.

She could not see the head of the line. The ships were in a precise row and all the ships ahead were obscured by the dreadnought in front of them. Helen knew that one by one the ships were heading into the Junction. Each was reconfiguring its impeller wedge into Warshawski sails and at the correct moment they would activate their hyperdrives and be hurled through the wormhole to the terminus. A part of Helen wished she was on the bridge to watch the operation that was taking place, but she had seen that before, this was something new.

Helen put her binoculars aside and fixed her gaze on the white dot of the dreadnought in front of her. Minutes passed and the other dots of the Junction fortresses slowly drifted by on the edge of her vision.

Suddenly, the dreadnought was gone.

_Our turn next._

A thrill of anticipation grew in her chest. It was not just the excitement of the transit. Helen knew that she was beginning a new phase of her life. All the training, all the years of preparation were over now. The purpose for which she had totally devoted herself was waiting for her just ahead. She was leaving much behind: her family, her friends, the Academy and Sylvia Thayer. She hoped to return to them if she could, but if that was not to be, she accepted it.

Lieutenant Helen Zilwicki of the Royal Manticoran Navy-Squadron Commander, Officer of the Queen, Warrior-leaped the light-years to bring justice to the Peeps.

**End of Book One**

**First Interlude**

**C**itizen Captain Gerard LaSalle looked out the viewport of his inspection shuttle and tried to work up a proper enthusiasm at the sight of his new command. The huge white shape growing in the 'port should have filled him with excitement, but his nagging doubts threatened to spoil the moment.

_Well, she is a capital ship, and she's just finished a refit, and she's thirty times the mass of my last command, and she's..._

"A piece of junk. What a piece of junk."

LaSalle sighed and looked to the source of the statement that had finished any chance of him attaining the proper mood. Citizen Commander Edward Krieser raised his eyebrows when he became aware of his captain's gaze, but he said nothing.

"Thank you, Citizen Commander, for that ringing bit of optimism," said LaSalle.

"I call' em like I see 'em, Skipper," said Krieser simply.

"Citizen Commander!" said a new voice. An indignant and angry voice. "You are speaking of a warship in the People's Navy! You are perilously close to treason!"

LaSalle and Krieser turned slightly to regard the speaker: a small wiry man whose sharp face and piercing eyes reminded LaSalle of the direweasels he had hunted as a boy.

"Citizen Commissioner, I depend on my first officer to speak his mind to me. Even when I don't agree with his opinion, I value it. Perhaps after you have been with us a while, you will come to see the Citizen Commander's wisdom in the same light I have." Citizen Commissioner Zaharus opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, LaSalle turned to his first officer. "And Citizen Commander, a bit more enthusiasm might be in order," he chided gently. Zaharus scowled, but shut his mouth.

"Certainly, Skipper," said Krieser. "In front of the crew I'll be properly enthusiastic. If I've offended the Citizen Commissioner, I apologize. I had presumed that we were all mature enough to deal with the facts of the matter, but apparently I was mistaken."

"Citizen Commander!" sputtered Zaharus angrily, but LaSalle cut him off.

"Citizens! Enough!" LaSalle glared at the men standing next to him and they subsided. He turned back to look at his new ship, deliberately ignoring both of them.

_Amazing! A year ago I would have not dared to address one of these bloody commissioners like that. Things have changed. I just wish I knew what the rules are now._

He put that thought aside and forced himself to concentrate on the ship in front of him. _Krieser is right, she is a piece of junk - but she's __my__ piece of junk!_

_ PNS Mars la Tour_ had been a powerful warship in her day, but that day had been long ago. She was officially classified as a battleship, but she was nothing like the battleships that were currently helping protect the Republic from the Manticoran invaders. At three million tons, she was scarcely half of a normal battleship's size and only a fraction of its combat power. But she still seemed enormous and powerful compared to the light cruiser that had been LaSalle's last command.

The shuttle was approaching the rear hammerhead and LaSalle's eyes were drawn to the after impeller ring. He frowned.

"Citizen Commander Boerste, I was led to believe that this vessel had undergone a complete refit. Look at the pitting there! You cannot tell me that those nodes have been replaced."

Citizen Lieutenant-Commander Louella Boerste, the new chief engineer of _Mars la Tour_, looked nervous, but she kept her voice steady. "No, Citizen Captain, they have not. When I received the full report from the yard manager, I found that many of the promised improvements have not been implemented. I had been trying to find the ...err, proper moment to inform you."

A surge of anger flowed through LaSalle. _It would have been bad enough even with all the promised refits! What have those bastards sold me here?_

"So what about those nodes? When were they last replaced?"

"According to these records, Citizen Captain, they were replaced approximately four years before the ship was placed into reserve status." The woman facing LaSalle blushed and swallowed before continuing. "That was in...um, 1792 P.D."

"Seventeen-ninety-two!" blurted Krieser. "That's over a hundred and twenty T-years ago! They actually expect us to try and use this thing!?"

LaSalle was a bit stunned. He glanced around the shuttle and most of the other faces looked similarly shocked. Even Citizen Commissioner Zaharus was sufficiently surprised to not complain about Krieser's outburst. LaSalle took several deep breaths to compose himself.

"I see. And I assume that the inertial compensator is of similar vintage. What sort of accelerations can we expect?"

"Actually, Citizen Captain, the IC has been largely rebuilt," said the engineer, relieved to have even a tiny bit of good news to give her captain. "The yard dogs tell me she can do three hundred gees, but I think two-seventy-five is a more realistic estimate for an extended run."

"What a relief," said Krieser sarcastically. "At least we don't have to worry about being run down and captured by any Manty merchant ships!"

LaSalle turned away from the others and stared out the viewport at the side of his ship that was slowly drifting past. He was not really paying attention to what his eyes were seeing.

_I suppose I should have expected this. The whole idea of activating the Reserve Fleet was to get us more ships quickly and on the cheap. They were not going to spend any more time or money than they had to. But what a mess!_

Citizen Captain LaSalle and his officers were in a planetless star system about a dozen light years from Haven. It was one of two locations that had been used as a dumping ground for old warships for over a century. The ships had charitably been called the Reserve Fleet and were theoretically available to be re-activated in an emergency. The fact that this was being done indicated just how desperate the Republic had become.

Prior to adopting the "DuQuesne Plan" and starting down the road to war and conquest, the People's Republic (just known as the "Republic of Haven" in those days) had a respectable navy for self defense. When the decision was made to solve Haven's economic woes by looting her neighbors, a massive military build-up had been initiated. A new and completely modern fleet had been constructed from the keel up. _Mars-la-Tour_, and a half-hundred similar battleships, had been deemed too old even then and were quietly moth-balled and put into storage in out-of-the-way spots. Over the decades, hundreds of other ships had joined them. Some navies, like Manticore's, did not keep obsolete ships around. They either scrapped them or sold them to smaller navies. Haven, had kept hers. The newer vessels in the Reserve Fleet had long since been re-activated and sent to the front. Now it was the turn of the very oldest ships. The Republic was literally scraping the bottom of the barrel.

Warfare had been different when _Mars la Tour_ had been in active service. Energy weapons had been ineffective at anything over point-blank range, missiles were thruster propelled and armed with contact nuclear weapons, armor was thin, missile defense was...

"My God! Look at that!" exclaimed Krieser. LaSalle looked around and then followed his exec's gaze to the object protruding from a blister on the ship's side. For a moment he could not believe what he was seeing.

"An autocannon," he said after a few moments.

"Skipper! They can't be serious! To send us out with this crap against modern weapons would be..."

"Excuse me, Commander," said Louella Boerste, forgetting the approved form of address in her haste. "We have received forty new point defense laser clusters. That autocannon is not in use, it just has not been removed."

LaSalle fixed his gaze on Boerste. "New laser clusters, Citizen Commander?"

"Err...,well, not exactly new, Citizen Captain, refurbished ones, but newer than the autocannons."

"I see. And what is the status of our other weapons systems? Or do I really want to know?"

The woman briefly consulted her compad. "The ship originally carried thirty missile tubes and twelve lasers on her broadsides; four tubes and two lasers in the chases. The original lasers were worthless, Citizen Captain, they could not have penetrated the sidewalls of a frigate. They have been replaced with more modern lasers. Unfortunately, the mounts would only accept cruiser-sized weapons. The mass drivers in the missile tubes have been similarly upgraded, but again the size has limited us to destroyer grade missiles. Also, the greater length of the modern missiles has caused some problems with the feed mechanisms. We've had to abandon the forward and after pair of tubes in each broadside, leaving us with twenty-six."

"And forty laser clusters. What about counter-missiles?"

"Uh, the counter-missiles in those days were of an entirely different size and shape, Citizen Captain. Our CMs cannot use the existing tubes. We are going to have to use the canister type CMs and launch them from the main tubes."

"Further reducing our broadsides," said LaSalle. Another dismal though struck him. "What about the sidewalls?"

"The generators were on par with the original lasers. They have been replaced with salvaged generators and are probably up to about cruiser strength, Citizen Captain."

"So what we have here is a ship that is only fit to fight destroyers, but is not half fast enough to catch them!" said Krieser testily. "Brilliant! Utterly brilliant! I wonder what genius thought this one up?"

"Citizen Commander!" exclaimed Zaharus. The Citizen Commissioner seemed to have recovered sufficiently from his earlier surprise to start being a nuisance again. "Your defeatist attitude and disrespect for our leaders is unacceptable! Unless you want to figure prominently in my next report, you had best change your tone!"

LaSalle could see Edward Krieser preparing a retort. He put out his hand to stop him. Krieser's eye's blazed angrily, but LaSalle had served with him for years and he knew that Krieser had not reached his limit-yet.

"Citizens," said LaSalle sternly. "We must learn to control our disappointment, Citizen Commander. And Citizen Commissioner, you will grow accustomed to my exec venting his spleen from time to time. I can assure you that his devotion to the Republic is beyond question. And he is far too valuable to me to allow him to be ...removed. Am I clear?" LaSalle shifted his gaze from one man to the other.

"Sure, Skipper," said Krieser, who shrugged as if nothing had happened. Zaharus locked eyes with LaSalle and the two men stared at each other for several second. Eventually Zaharus blinked.

"I understand, Citizen Captain, I hope your friend here does as well." The tone that Zaharus used on the word "friend" sent a chill through LaSalle, but he did not let it show. He glanced at the beefy State Security officer who had been standing motionless in the rear of the shuttle this whole time, then he turned back to the viewport.

_Zaharus is going to be trouble. But you can tell he's scared, they're all scared. I wish I really knew what the hell was happening!_

LaSalle knew some of the story, but many important pieces were missing. And other pieces were only rumors. The biggest piece, of course, was that the Manty officer, Honor Harrington, had somehow escaped from the Republic's "inescapable" prison planet and brought former admiral Amos Parnell out with her. Quite a feat when you consider that both of them had supposedly been executed.

The embarrassment of the escape would have been bad enough, but Parnell had some absolutely damning things to say about the coup that brought Robert Pierre's government into power. The government had tried to suppress and deny the charges. They had claimed that Harrington and Parnell were impostors-or even clones. But the news had been too much of a surprise to stop. The Republic's information bureau had been trying to defuse charges of state censorship by giving the citizens access to certain Solarian news services that had proven friendly. The news had come into the Republic that way and too quickly to stop entirely.

LaSalle had only gotten most of it second hand, but the bottom line was that the Navy had not been responsible for the assassination of President Harris and his entire government. It had been, in fact, Pierre and his supporters who had done it and then they put the blame on the Navy. If the news had come four or five years earlier when there was a larger percentage of pre-war officers in positions of power, there probably would have been an immediate revolt of the Navy and a military take-over.

It had still nearly happened as it was. As far as LaSalle could learn, when the news had broken, Pierre and the Committee of Public Safety had panicked and there had been a new round of purges and crackdowns. This time, the fleet had not meekly submitted. An alarming number of Peoples' Commissioners and their stooges had suffered fatal "accidents" aboard ships. There were rumors that Esther McQueen had attempted a coup. More rumors that the fleets commanded by Admirals Theisman and Giscard-and perhaps others-were in a state of open revolt. In some sort of knee-jerk reaction, an ill-planned offensive was launched against the Manties, commanded by officers who had remained loyal to the government. This was smashed and the Manties had then driven even deeper into Republic territory.

More rumors flew: McQueen had been arrested; McQueen had been executed; Pierre was dead; Saint-Just was dead. The whole chain of command seemed to be coming apart. At some point during this mess, LaSalle's last command, the light cruiser _Malplaquet_, had been wrecked in a skirmish with the Manties.

In the last few months things seemed to have settled down, but reliable information was hard to come by. The most reasonable rumor that LaSalle had heard suggested that McQueen had attempted a coup-perhaps as an act of self preservation, but it had failed and she had been arrested. Theisman, Giscard and others had rallied to McQueen's support, but too late to help the coup. Rather than submit, they had demanded McQueen's release and had essentially held their own fleets hostage-along with any hope for the Republic in the war. After several months of political stalemate, the new Manty offensive had upset the apple cart. With Alliance fleets within striking distance of Haven, the government had capitulated. McQueen had been released and she, along with Theisman and Giscard, were now commanding the defense of Haven itself.

It made sense to LaSalle, but he still did not really know what was happening. More rumors had it that in the ships commanded by Theisman and Giscard-along with a good portion of the Capital Fleet-the People's Commissioners had virtually disappeared. In other ships-like _Mars la Tour_-that were away from Haven, the People's Commissioners were still in control and in some cases, even more ruthless than ever. The ships' marines were being replaced with State Security people and word had come down that no more "accidents" would be tolerated.

But it was probably too late. The Commissioners had made themselves too unpopular for too long. And they had shown weakness. They were like a wounded animal. Their enemies could smell the blood and the fear and were no longer intimidated. It showed in the eyes of Zaharus and his blackleg bodyguard. They were surrounded by potential enemies and any ship offered a hundred opportunities for fatal "accidents" to occur-no matter how careful they were. Zaharus may have held LaSalle's life in his hand, but he knew that his own life was in the hands of LaSalle's crew-and it showed.

_The whole thing is falling apart. How can we fight a war when we are more concerned with watching our backs than watching the enemy?_

All the while that LaSalle had been musing on the political situation and trying to decide just how far he could push the little man standing behind him, Citizen Lieutenant Commander Boerste had been continuing with her run-down on the status of the ship's systems. LaSalle had filed the information away for later analysis, but he was not really listening. Finally he became aware that the engineer had stopped talking and the shuttle had completed the exterior inspection of his "new" ship.

"Very well. Thank you, Citizen Commander. I'm sure we will have much to discuss later. I think we have seen everything we need to out here. Let's go aboard, shall we?"

[Scene Break]

Citizen Captain LaSalle looked around his cabin aboard _PNS Mars la Tour_. It was not nearly as luxurious as the absurdly ostentatious captain's quarters that could be found on ships built during the hey-day of the Legislaturalists. Nor was it as Spartan as those in ships built since then. It actually would have been a comfortable and functional cabin for the commander of a battleship-if there had not been a hundred and twenty years of dust accumulated in it. It was obvious that the yard crew who had refit the ship had done nothing at all to clean the ship up. They had been in here, though. There were several new holes in the bulkhead coverings where things-it looked to LaSalle like perhaps a large mirror and some ornamental lighting-had been removed. No doubt to be sold on some black market.

There was not actually all that much dust. Once the ship's ventilation system had been shut down during the mothballing process and the compartments were sealed, the only source of dust would have been the slowly decomposing carpets and furnishings. LaSalle looked over those furnishings and tried sitting in a few of the chairs. He came away with dust all over his black uniform. Cleaning might help the furniture. He hoped so, because he was not likely to have a chance to replace any of it in the near future.

Cleaning it was going to be a chore, too and the fact that he would probably have to do most of it himself did not put him in a better mood. One of the first things the new government had done after the original coup was to strip the navy of all its "elitist" trappings. Some of what they had done had been good-a much needed housecleaning. But as usual, they had gone too far and done other things that made no sense-including doing away with all of the officers' stewards.

In the eyes of the government, it was "demeaning" for one person to act as a servant for another. What they completely overlooked, of course, as civilians so often do, was that on a warship, officers already have so much work and responsibility that to relieve them of a few menial chores was not a luxury. It was something that would make them-and the ship-function more efficiently.

To even make such a suggestion would have been treason, so for years the officers in the Peoples' Navy had been without stewards. At first they had tried hiring crew members to do the work in their off hours. That had also quickly been outlawed. After that, the officers just had to make do. Their solutions varied from ship to ship. Sometimes they all got together and came up with a work rotation that allowed them to clean their quarters and do their laundry as a team. On ships with happy crews and reasonable Peoples' Commissioners, some of the crew volunteered to help out the officers. LaSalle had seen a dozen different systems. He looked around his quarters again and wondered how this mess was going to get taken care of.

While he was looking, the buzzer on the door sounded.

He opened it and there was Citizen Commander Edward Krieser.

"May I come in, Citizen Captain?"

"Certainly, Citizen Commander." LaSalle stood aside and let his exec pass and then he shut and locked the door.

"You can have a seat if you want, Ed, but I would not recommend it," said LaSalle turning around to show the back of his uniform.

Krieser snorted. "Just like all the others, Skipper. We'll have to get some cleaning equipment and some volunteers together to give all the quarters a going over. I'll take care of it, don't worry."

"I'd appreciate it, Ed. So what do you think?"

"You mean about this antique mascarading as a warship? I don't know, Skipper, I just don't know. I guess we don't have any real choice except make a go of it. Or were you asking about Zaharus?"

LaSalle lowered his voice. "So where _is _our watchdog?"

"Oh, he's off making speeches to inspire the crew. I don't think we have to worry about him for a little while."

"He's going to be a problem, I'm afraid," said LaSalle.

"Well, if he gets to be too big a problem, he might just have..."

"Don't even say it, Ed!" interrupted LaSalle. "There will be none of that aboard my ship."

"I hear you, Skipper," said Krieser shaking his head. "It's a shame Talbot was killed when we lost, _Malplaquet_ she was a reasonable sort."

"We lost a lot of good people that day. I wonder what sort we'll get to flesh out the crew of this hulk?"

"I haven't had a chance to really look over the crew roster, Skipper. I would imagine it will be the usual assortment of new volunteers and conscripts with a few retreads like us."

"Probably. But back to the ship, herself. She's in a lot worse shape than I'd been led to believe. Sorry I dragged you into this, Ed."

"Well, Skipper, we were all sold the same bill of goods and all made the same choice: Stick together and form the nucleus of a crew for a ship out of the Reserve Fleet, or get split up and used as replacements for other ships. I don't regret my decision, but I just don't see how we can turn this..._thing_...into an effective warship. If we come up against much of anything we're dead. Even a new Manty heavy cruiser could probably take us-without pods."

LaSalle looked at his executive officer. They had served together for over six years and he had come to depend on him. Not just for all his hard work, but for telling him the truth of things-even when he did not want to hear it.

"Well, Ed, I've got some good news and some bad news, as the old saying goes." Krieser raised his eyebrows and looked interested.

"Some good news would be very welcome right now," he said.

"Okay, the good news is that where we are going to be heading, we probably won't run into any Manty ships-new or old."

"I think you just told me the bad news, too, Skipper," said Krieser with a grimace. "Garrison duty in the back of the beyond?"

"Pretty much. We have not gotten our specific orders yet, but the Commodore told me we would probably be doing garrison work in the rear areas-along with a good bit of anti-insurgency work."

"Oh God," moaned Krieser. "Garrison duty is one thing, but the rest of it turns my stomach, Skipper. My first assignment was on a destroyer rooting out rebels from some God-forsaken asteroid belt in some system I can't even remember anymore."

"That's something I've never been involved with. Bad?" asked LaSalle.

"Be thankful you haven't, Skipper. It was bad. Not from a military standpoint, the rebels did not have much to fight with, but it was bad." Krieser shook his head. He was silent for a moment before continuing.

"I joined up right after the war started, you know that, Skipper. I had always been ship crazy as a kid. I was bright, but I did not have any connections, and navy life as a rating did not look too appealing. Then the Legislaturalists got blown away and it seemed like I might have an even chance at things. I really believed in what Pierre's new government was doing back then. And the war against the Manties seemed like a good thing-heck, I still want to beat them: their aristocracy goes against my grain even more than the Legislators did. It's an evil form of government, and I wish we could crush the bastards. Not much hope of that now," he said sadly.

"So I was an idealist when I joined up. That did not last long. Right out of OCS I get sent on this anti-insurgency patrol. Y'know, Skipper, it's amazing how few people on Haven ever wonder how we got all those planets we rule-and used to rule. I sure never did. Well, the simple fact is we conquered them. Brute force. And a lot of those people want their freedom back.

"That patrol was a nightmare. Most of those systems are no great shakes. Hardly any merchant traffic. No reason for any foreign power to have a consulate. No witnesses. Skipper, there's nobody out there to enforce the Deneb Accords or even the Eridani Edict. If we found a rebel base out among the asteroids, we just nuked it. Most of them had non-combatants on them. Some of them tried to surrender once we found them. It didn't make any difference.

"And then they gave us "shore leave" on the inhabited planet in the system. It was more like a pillaging expedition-something like you read about from a pirate raid in Silesia. We went around in armed parties just taking whatever anyone wanted-and I mean anything, Skipper. I still get queasy thinking about it."

LaSalle stared at his friend. He was shocked: Krieser had always been the sort to bitch and complain and speak his mind, but LaSalle had never seen him like this before.

"Ed, I...,Ed, I don't know what to say...,"

"Oh, you don't have to say anything, Skipper. At least I know you won't let anything like that happen from this ship." He said it offhandedly, but then Ed Krieser fixed his gaze on Gerard LaSalle and stared at him with haunted eyes. A chill went through LaSalle, but then a feeling of determination-and pride-started to grow in him.

"With men like you to crew her, I can promise you that _Mars la Tour_ will never have anything to be ashamed of, Commander."

"Thanks, Skipper," said Krieser with a look of gratitude. "Thanks a lot."


	3. Book Two

**Lieutenants**

**Book Two**

First Blood

**Chapter Ten**

"**H**ull breach! Deck twelve, sector B-seventy-three! Damage Control Party Forty-two, respond!"

Lieutenant (jg) Patric McDermott nearly jumped out of his skinsuit when the com suddenly came to life. He had been expecting the call from Damage Control Central, but when it finally came, it still surprised him. Even so, he only hesitated an instant before responding.

"DC-Forty-two, on the way! Okay, gang, that's us! Grab your gear and let's go!" he shouted to his waiting DC party. He picked up his toolkit and hurried along the ship's passageways, leading the eight members of his team. Up one corridor and down another, through pressure hatches, and up a gangway. After two months Patric knew the innards of _GNS Alliance_ like the back of his hand. It was only another drill, but he hurried his people along like it was the real thing.

Patric's primary assignment was at the damage control station in Auxiliary Control, but like most of the crew, he had a secondary assignment and that was to lead a DC party. When the ship was at battlestations, Patric would be in AuxCon, so it was unlikely that he would ever get the chance to actually do what he was practicing now. But it was important for him to help train the people in the party who had not had the six months of advanced instruction in damage control that he had. In particular, he was showing Ensign Evan Frasier how to lead a damage control party.

"Close it up, people! Mister Frasier bring up the rear and no straggling!"

They reached a sealed pressure hatch. The indicator light on the controls told him that there was vacuum on the other side. Patric knew that, in fact, there was still pressure on the other side, but the computer controlling this exercise wanted them to behave as if it was real. He quickly looked back along the corridor, inspecting the hatches along either side to make sure they were sealed.

"All right, Ensign! Close that hatch down there! Everyone! Visors down and prepare for vacuum." Patric closed the visor on his vac helmet and checked the seal. Ensign Frasier shut the pressure hatch a dozen meters back down the corridor, thus creating a temporary airlock. When all of his people confirmed that their visors were sealed, Patric hit the controls that evacuated the air from this stretch of corridor. Once again, the computer was lying to them: the air was not being sucked out of their airlock, but they were to act as if it were.

After about a minute, the readout indicated they were in vacuum and that they could open the hatch in front of them. Patric hit the proper button and the hatch slid back. If this had been real, they would have seen a section of corridor that had been torn open to space by an enemy missile. As it was, it looked like any other bit of corridor on the ship. Patric stepped forward and consulted his compad. The breach was from about here...to over here, and it had taken a chunk out of the deck to about...there. It had also blown through the opposite side of the passageway, but that was not their concern right now. If they could get a patch on the outer bulkhead, they could restore pressure and the inner hole would not matter.

"Okay, people, bring up that patching material!" Patric took out a small spray can and painted in the limits of the breach. His people quickly unfolded a sheet of light, but incredibly tough plastic and began fitting it over the "hole". They took out small hand-held lasers and began welding the plastic to the surrounding deck and bulkheads. The white-hot beams simultaneously sealed and trimmed off the excess. If this had been real, they would have had to use their lasers to cut off the jagged and twisted metal that would have been on the edge of the hole, but now, they simply had to weld the plastic in place. Patric was briefly tempted to activate one of the numerous repair robots that were stashed in many locations around the ship. It was those robots–and others like them–which allowed the ship to get away with so few crewmen. Patric had not worked with them as much as he would have liked and it would be good to get some more practice. But this was such a simple job, there was not much point, so he let the idea drop.

Once Patric was satisfied that they had the plastic in the proper position, he took out his own laser and helped with the welding. In a situation like this, seconds counted and he was not one to stand back and watch other people work just because he was an officer.

Patric had spent years doing repair work back home on his family farm on Gryphon. He knew tools very well and that was probably what saved him from serious injury now. His laser had only been on for a few seconds when his instincts realized that something was wrong. He let go of the tool and snatched his hand back. He tried to shout a warning to his team, but it was drowned out in the blast as the hand laser exploded in front of him.

The explosion was not large, but Patric was thrown back against the opposite bulkhead. Dozens of sharp pains peppered his chest, arm, and upper legs. Cries of alarm and pain came from his teammates. Patric slid down to the deck, his breath knocked out of him. He looked down at himself and saw that his skinsuit had been punctured in many places and that blood was oozing out some of the holes. Other punctures had shards of plastic from the hand laser sticking out.

As his head cleared he looked around and saw that several other people in his team had been injured.

"Is everyone all right?" he gasped. "Evan! Call a medical team!"

Frasier, who had been staring at his teammates with his mouth hanging open, shook himself and pulled out his compad.

"Medical Emergency! Deck Twelve, Sector B-Seventy-three! We have casualties! This is not a drill!"

[Scene Break]

"You could have been killed."

"It's not that bad, Anny," said Patric. "Nothing but minor puncture wounds. The quick-heal will fix me right up. I won't even miss any duty."

Anny was standing in front of the table in SickBay that Patric was sitting on. He was wearing a robe, but it could not conceal all the bandages that covered his multitude of small wounds.

"You still could have been killed," she said accusingly. Her normally beautiful face was creased in a frown. "If you had not been wearing a skin suit, those fragments would have done a lot more damage, and if you had really been in vacuum, your team would never have been able to patch all those holes in time-especially with half of them hurt, too." Patric had taken the brunt of the explosion, but four of his team had also suffered minor injuries. Patric could only shrug.

"Accidents happen, Anny. I've had worse happen to me back on the farm..."

"If it was an accident," said Anny quietly.

Patric frowned and said nothing. The thought had occurred to him already. He was hoping it would not occur to Anny.

"As near as they can tell, the batteries shorted out and the capacitor exploded. That was the first time that laser had been used-it could have been an accident."

"Yes, a million-to-one accident, and it just happens to pick you to happen to," said Anny. She did not seem the least bit convinced.

Patric's frown deepened. Anny was right, of course, it probably was too much of a coincidence, but what could they do about it? Captain Christopher had already come by to talk to Patric about the "accident". He was not able to talk freely because of the other people present, but he dropped some hints that he would be looking into the situation very carefully. Patric wished he could say something to make Anny feel better, but he could not think of a thing.

"There's not much we can do about it, except follow Admiral Matthews' advice and keep our eyes open," he said finally.

"There is one thing we could do," said Anny. She was staring at Patric with a strange intensity.

"What?"

"We can get the Hell out of here; go back to the RMN where we are welcome- where we belong."

"You mean run away? That's not like you Anny."

Her look became even grimmer and her voice fell to a whisper. "I ran away once before, but you followed me and dragged me back. I was prepared to face the risks here and do my duty. I'm _not_ prepared to have those bastards hurt you to try and get at me. I've accepted that I might be killed, I've even hardened myself to the thought that you might be killed in action. But this is something else, something different. For some crazy zealot to hurt you because coming after me directly would just turn me into a martyr-no. That's one price I'm not willing to pay, Patric."

Patric was surprised. He had never seen her like this before. He did not know what to say, so he just held out his arms and she moved into his embrace. It had been several days since they had even managed a quick hug and it felt very good in spite of the pressure it was putting on some of his wounds. But he was worried about her.

"We don't _know_ it wasn't an accident, Anny."

"No, and we won't know for sure until the next one kills you, will we?"

"Anny, the ship is being commissioned in two days and we'll be shipping out for the front right after that. We can't quit now, we just can't!"

"I know, I know," she murmured against his chest. "Damn them! Damn them! Why can't they just leave us alone?"

"Who? Is there something you're not telling me?" A sudden alarm coursed through Patric. The fact that Anny was cursing showed him how upset she was, and what "them" was she talking about?

"Oh, I don't know if it's really anyone at all," admitted Anny. "But you know all those letters I get. I try to read all of them and answer as many as I can. Most of them are very positive, but some are not. Some are really nasty, and some are even threatening. Some of them have threatened you."

"Have you told anyone about this?" asked Patric.

"Yes, of course. Copies of the threatening ones go straight to ONI, just like I was told to do. Not that that's likely to do any good. Even if they can track them back to their sender, they are probably just cranks. Anyone determined enough to actually carry out a threat, isn't likely to advertise about it beforehand."

Anny held Patric more closely and her voice sank to a whisper. "Why do some people have to be like that? Anything they don't understand or agree with they want to strike out at. They hurt and kill instead of trying to understand. Oh, Patric, I didn't want this. I didn't want this for me, I didn't want this for us."

Patric fumbled for the right words. Anny's distress hurt him more than his wounds.

"Anny, it probably isn't as bad as you are making out. We've been here nearly two months and this is the only serious thing to happen-and it _could_ have been an accident. You have not had any real trouble with any of the crew have you?"

"Well, no, not really,' said Anny, stepping back a bit, but still keeping her arms around him. "Most of them have been friendly and helpful and Chris Tropio has been wonderful, but she doesn't really count. The only one who has been unfriendly has been Rutledge-but he actually has a reason."

Patric nodded. Lieutenant Mark Rutledge was no longer the chief helmsman for _GNS Alliance. _As Admiral Matthews had promised, Captain Christopher had gotten Anny onto the bridge. It had been a fairly simple matter. There were a standard set of computer controlled "Proficiency Tests" for virtually every position on the ship. After the initial part of the ship's shakedown was complete, the Captain had started running his crew through those tests and making rearrangements. As he probably expected, Anny had scored the highest on the piloting tests and she had been moved to the helm on the prime bridge watch. Rutledge had not been happy.

Patric was not all that happy either. He was still in Auxiliary Control. He supposed he should be flattered. The way _Alliance's_ crew was arranged had three rotating watches for the Bridge. The Prime watch was the one that would man the controls when the ship was at battlestations. These were the best and most proficient people available. The second best people were assigned to Auxiliary Control. AuxCon was only manned when the prime watch was on the bridge. At battlestations, the other two bridge watches would help out on the bridge or AuxCon as needed, and the excess would be used elsewhere.

Patric would have liked to be on the bridge with Anny, but Lieutenant Commander Richard Mendoza, the man who was on the bridge, had eight years of experience and Patric could not match his abilities-yet. Still, being the Damage Control Officer in AuxCon was pretty exciting. DCO was a kind of odd position. There was a distinct split between bridge officers and all the other officers on the ship. Engineering, in particular, was a whole different world. Bridge officers were concerned with running the ship. Engineering officers were concerned with keeping the ship running. They were two very specialized fields of expertise, but there needed to be some crossover and that was where the bridge Engineering and Damage Control officers came in. Their primary job was to keep the captain informed of the status of his ship-what was working; what was not; how long repairs would take; how much more the ship could give him. Regular Engineering and DC officers could have filled those slots, but much experience had shown the need for officers with enough command knowledge to know what was important and what was not. When Patric was at the DC station, he was expected to evaluate the damage reports coming in and compare them to the tactical situation. Only relevant information was then sent on to the captain. There was a lot of initiative involved in the job. Patric would often have to make decisions about repair priorities without consulting the captain. The whole idea was to give the captain the information he needed to fight his ship without burdening him with unneeded information.

It was a big job and once the ship started getting holes shot in it, it became even bigger. Unlike most of the positions in AuxCon, Patric would have things to do even if the bridge was still in command. Patric would work closely in support of Lt. Commander Mendoza throughout a battle, while most of his comrades in AuxCon would just be watching.

It was interesting and challenging, but it did not change the fact that Anny was on the bridge and Patric was nearly a kilometer away in AuxCon. Nor did it change the fact that Mark Rutledge was now in AuxCon with Patric. Rutledge did not like Anny and he made no secret of the fact that he did not like Patric either.

"Has Rutledge given you any trouble, Anny?" asked Patric.

"No, he's avoided me completely since I was assigned to the bridge. How about with you?"

"Just sour looks fifty times a day, I think he..."

Footsteps outside the exam room caused Patric to stop talking and Anny hastily stepped away from him. A moment later a SickBay Attendant came into the compartment.

"Well, Lieutenant," he said brightly, "You are completely healthy except for all those little holes in you and they should not bother you after a day or two. You are cleared to return to duty."

"Okay, thanks." Patric slid off the table and went to where his uniform was piled. He looked over at Anny.

"I'll see you later," he said with a smile.

Anny smiled back. "Later."

Anny left the compartment and Patric started getting dressed. The SBA was still there.

"She's really something isn't she? Lieutenant Payne, I mean," said the man.

"Yes, she certainly is."

[Scene Break]

A few minutes later Patric entered the Junior Officers' Mess, to get something to eat. He was depressed by his conversation with Anny. She was usually so happy and full of life, but these last weeks seemed to be draining all the joy out of her. He wished there was something he could do to cheer her up.

Without really noticing, he filled a tray with food and found an empty table to sit down at. He took a bite and grimaced. He did not particularly care for most of the Grayson cooking. It was spicier than he was used to, but he had learned to make the best of it-like everything else here.

_I wish we could have stayed in the Royal Navy. Things would be so much simpler. But I knew what I was letting myself in for when I fell in love with Anny. And I guess it's been worth it._

Patric was in love with Anny, but he also admired her greatly. She was doing something noble and admirable that fit perfectly with Patric's ideal of what naval service was all about. He was proud to be even a small part of what she was doing. He was determined not let her down-or let her let herself down. Patric remembered that awful day up on Harrington Hill. He knew that Anny was plagued with self-doubts from time to time, but she had such strength, too. She was the strongest person Patric had ever met- well, except for Helen, maybe. But right now, Anny was struggling with her doubts again. Patric recognized the signs and he felt especially helpless to do anything about it this time...

"Hey, Patric! What are you doing out of Sick Bay?"

Patric looked up to see Evan Frasier standing a few meters away with a tray of food in his hands. He was looking at Patric with an expression of surprise.

"Oh, hi, Evan. They say I'm fit for duty, so here I am. All the others have been released, too."

"That's great!" said Frasier, setting down his tray at Patric's table and pulling up a chair. "I was going to try and come visit you right after I ate. I figured you'd be in there at least a couple of days."

"Just minor wounds. Nothing serious at all. I've gotten worse just working around the farm."

"Worse than a welding laser blowing up in your face? What kind of farm do you come from, anyway?" asked Frasier incredulously.

Patric laughed. "Just a regular farm on Gryphon. But farm equipment can be dangerous, too." Patric pulled up his sleeve to expose his right forearm and pointed out a faint, pale scar. "A reaper almost took my arm off when I was twelve. Another few centimeters and I would have been for the regeneration ward."

"Phew! So you joined the Navy to get somewhere safe, huh?"

"Yup, nothing but Peeps out here to worry about. I'll take them over a berserk robo-reaper any day!" They both laughed.

Patric looked at Evan Frasier. He was a few T-years older than the ensign, but he was probably the best friend Patric had on the ship-except for Anny, of course. They got along very well and Patric found himself cheering up as he traded jokes with the young officer. Then the two of them went to work on their meals and were finished in just a few minutes.

"Do you have the time to talk a bit, Patric?" asked Frasier.

Patric checked his chrono. "I guess for a little bit, but then I need to hit the sack before my next watch."

"I understand: that quick-heal makes you want to sleep for a week," said Frasier, nodding.

The pair left the mess hall and went through the hatch into the adjoining Junior Officers' Wardroom. They found a couple of chairs and sat down. There were thirty or forty other officers and stewards there.

"So does Anny know about the accident?" asked Frasier. He had spent some time with Anny and Patric in their off-duty hours. Anny liked him a lot, too.

"Yeah, she came down to Sick Bay and chewed me out for a while. I guess she was worried."

"Well, I'll admit to being more than a tad worried myself, Patric! Do they have any idea what caused the explosion?"

"Batteries shorted and the capacitor blew. As to why the batteries shorted..." Patric shrugged.

"Damn peculiar if you ask me," said Frasier. Patric stared at him under his eyebrows but said nothing. "Anyway, we are running inspections on all the hand tools now. Do you have any idea how many hand tools there are on this ship? You are lucky you are not with the DC parties full time!"

"Well, I would not have minded _not_ being with the DC parties today. But then you might have gotten that laser and you don't have near as much tonnage as I do to soak up all that damage, Evan."

Frasier laughed, but his expression quickly became serious again. "I'm glad you weren't badly hurt, Patric."

"Well, me, too. You did a good job out there today, by the way."

"Thanks, Patric, I had a good teacher. What are you..."

"Well, well, McDermott! Heard you had an accident today," said a loud voice. "Got to learn to be more careful with government property-they'll dock your pay!"

Patric and Evan looked up. Lieutenant Mark Rutledge was standing there with four other officers that Patric recognized as Rutledge's friends. Patric was surprised: this was the first time Rutledge had ever spoken to him outside the line of duty. Usually it was only a few clipped sentences in AuxCon and nothing else but ugly looks. Maybe he was just gloating over Patric's misfortune, but suddenly Patric felt sure that something else was going on.

Rutledge and the others pulled up chairs around a nearby table and angled themselves so they were all facing Patric and Evan.

"I thought these Manties were all such hot shots that they never made mistakes," said one of them.

"Yeah," said another. "That's why they send them way out here in the boondocks to help out poor little provincials like us."

Several of them laughed, but there was no mirth in their voices. It was suddenly very quiet in the wardroom. Any doubts that something was happening left Patric. He sensed Evan shifting in his chair, but his eyes never left Rutledge.

"Of course, I suppose anyone can make a mistake. He might have just had something else on his mind," said Rutledge.

"Gosh, I wonder what?" said the one to Rutledge's right. His face was twisted into a leer.

Suddenly Evan Frasier burst out: "What are you guys talking about? That was an accident today! The laser just blew up in his face! It wasn't Patric's fault!"

Rutledge scowled. He looked at Frasier as if he were just now seeing him for the first time.

"Are you talking to me, _Ensign_? Just mind your own business, Snotnose!"

Rutledge ranked both Patric and Frasier and two of the others with him were senior grade lieutenants as well. "Take it easy, Evan," whispered Patric.

"In fact, snotty, just take yourself and your business somewhere else, we have our own business with your Manty friend here."

Evan Frasier looked around in confusion.

"I gave you an order, Ensign!" said Rutledge menacingly.

"Better go, Evan. I'll be okay," said Patric.

Frasier got up from his chair and retreated. Patric glanced after him and saw that he had not left the wardroom, but was standing near one of the bulkheads with a small crowd of wary onlookers. The Junior Officers' Wardroom was for lieutenants and ensigns, so there were no higher-ranking officers around.

"Now, as I was saying: I'll bet you had something else on your mind today, didn't you, McDermott?" continued Rutledge as if the interruption had never taken place.

Patric had not encountered much hazing by upperclassmen while he was at the Academy, but he recognized what Rutledge was doing-or he thought he did. There probably was no right answer to the question, but not answering was no solution either.

"I'm afraid I don't understand the Lieutenant's question," said Patric tonelessly.

"You don't? I simply meant that as the "Male Guardian" of Grayson's most famous Lieutenant, you might have been a bit distracted today. Is that right, Mr. McDermott?"

"No, sir, I was giving my full attention to the job at hand."

"Were you? Well then you could not have been doing your job as Lieutenant Payne's "Male Guardian", could you? I'd say that was a rather serious conflict of interest, wouldn't you?"

Patric did not answer right away. His brain was racing furiously. He was tense and nervous, he felt sweat beading on his forehead. _What is he after? He hates Anny and he hates me, there has to be some purpose to this!_

"I have been able to carry out my duty to the Payne family and this ship to everyone's satisfaction, sir," Patric said at last.

"Really? And how would you know that _everyone_ is satisfied? But I'm forgetting what a remarkable fellow you are, McDermott. I'm sure the Captain is satisfied. And I'm very sure that you have been able to satisfy Lieutenant Payne. As big as you are, you must be very satisfying to her, indeed. Just how is she, by the way?"

Patric started. Rutledge's words were carefully chosen to have two meanings. One meaning was completely innocent, the other a deadly insult to any Grayson. A brief surge of anger flowed through Patric, but he fought it down. Then his eyes were drawn by some small movements to Rutledge's companions.

They had been sitting casually before, but now they were on alert. Legs were uncrossed; hands at the ready; drinks pushed away; eyes focused on Patric; faces tense. In a sudden flash, Patric realized what it all meant.

_He's deliberately trying to provoke me! He wants me to attack him, and his friends are standing by to help him out when I do! Are they just hoping to beat me up? No! They want me to attack a superior officer-in front of witnesses-over some perfectly innocent remark!_

Patric was as tense as before, but he now felt growing confidence instead of fear. If that was their plan, they had misjudged the target. While he could recognize Rutledge's insult, it did not have the same power over a non-Grayson. Also, all Patric's life he had had to keep his temper in close check. His size and strength could have seriously hurt someone if he lost his temper. Now those years of self-discipline were paying off. He took a deep breath and he saw the others stiffen as if they expected him to spring. But then he leaned back in his chair and smiled.

"She was in excellent health when I saw her a little while ago, Lieutenant. It is very thoughtful of you to be concerned about her well being. Especially after the way she beat you out of the prime helm position. Some Graysons would be angry to be shown up like that...by a woman." Patric kept his voice perfectly calm, but he spoke loudly enough that everyone in the wardroom could hear him.

Rutledge's face turned crimson and he slammed his fist on the table with an oath.

"You Manty bastard!" he spat.

"Actually, I'm from Gryphon, sir, and my parentage is well documented." Patric's adrenaline was pumping and he felt lightheaded. But everything was focused with remarkable clarity. For a giddy instant, he wished Alby was here to give him a few pointers.

Rutledge cursed again and half rose out of his chair. One of his companions grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back down. With a visible effort, he got his own anger under control.

"I asked you a question, McDermott: how is she?" he hissed.

"And I answered you, sir. If you wanted some other response, I'm afraid I don't understand."

"You understand perfectly well, you son of a bitch!" cried Rutledge, losing control again. "You Manties come in here thinking you're better than us! You trample on our traditions, lead people astray, get us to fight your wars for you, and you think you can screw around with our women! You have been, too! Admit it!"

Rutledge was on his feet, shaking off his friends. After his outburst, the silence in the wardroom was a tangible thing. Patric was still in his chair, warily looking at the five officers opposite him. He had not expected to turn the tables on Rutledge quite so completely-or quickly. He was not sure what to say next, but he did not have to say anything.

"Lieutenant! That's enough!"

Evan Frasier was suddenly standing between Patric and Rutledge.

Rutledge looked at him as if he had grown up out of the deck. His eyes flicked back and forth between Evan and Patric in confusion. His fists were clenched.

"I told you to get out of here, Snotty, now do it!" he snarled, at last.

"Not while you are insulting my friend and disgracing your uniform...Sir!" said Frasier. Patric just looked at his friend in astonishment, but Rutledge was livid.

"What!?" he roared. "Why, you little..."

Before Rutledge could go on, Frasier stepped back slightly and turned so he could see both Patric and Rutledge.

"Lieutenant McDermott! Have you taken the Male Guardian's Oath?"

Patric was still so stunned at this turn of events that it took him several seconds to realize what Frasier had asked him.

"Uh, yes, yes I have." he said after a moment.

"The full oath?"

"Yes."

"You swore it to Lieutenant Payne's father?"

"Yes."

Frasier took a deep breath and stared into Patric's eyes.

"Have you ever broken your oath?"

Patric was silent for a moment and then he slowly got to his feet. He towered over the Graysons in the wardroom. He fixed his eyes on Mark Rutledge.

"No, I have not," he said very slowly.

Evan Frasier turned back to Rutledge. "Do you challenge?"

Rutledge and all four of his friends took a step back in shock. Rutledge suddenly looked around the wardroom and realized that nearly fifty people were watching him. His mouth opened and closed a few times as he tried to figure out what to do.

"What...what does a Manty know about oaths-or honor?" he said at last.

"Do you challenge Lieutenant McDermott as Andreanne Payne's Male Guardian?" demanded Frasier taking a step towards Rutledge. Patric could see that he was as furious as Rutledge had been a moment before. Rutledge took another step backwards and bumped into an empty chair.

"N...no," stuttered Rutledge.

"Do you challenge Ambassador Payne's judgement in this matter?"

"No!" said Rutledge, clearly alarmed.

"Do you challenge the Payne family!?"

Rutledge just shook his head with his eyes wide.

"Then, you are way out of line-Sir!" shouted Frasier. "You owe Lieutenant McDermott and Lieutenant Payne an apology-Sir!"

Rutledge and his friends were continuing to back away from the angry young man confronting them. One of them suddenly broke and fairly dashed out of the compartment. Then another. In a moment, Rutledge was alone. He looked wildly at Frasier and then Patric. His eyes swept around the wardroom, but found not a single friendly face.

Lieutenant Mark Rutledge turned and ran from the compartment.

For a long, long moment there was not a sound. Frasier stood and stared at the hatch Rutledge had left through and Patric stared at his friend. Both were breathing hard.

Suddenly there was a shout from across the compartment. One of the watching officers gave that strange howl that the Graysons used as a cheer. Others joined in and after a few seconds virtually everyone there was doing it. A crowd converged on Patric and Evan Frasier. Patric's hand was shaken and his back slapped more times than he could count. Evan was similarly mobbed. After what had come before, this seemed the strangest thing of all.

Eventually, his well-wishers had enough and moved away. Patric flopped into a chair and Evan collapsed beside him. They just stared at each other for a minute or two and then smiles began to grow on their faces.

"Evan, would you mind telling me just what happened here?" asked Patric.

"Gosh, Patric, I was kind of hoping you could tell me."

The amazing sharpness of the adrenaline rush was fading, but Patric was still alert enough to realize that he should not tell Evan his full suspicions. It was obvious to him that Rutledge had hoped to provoke him into doing something that would get him kicked off the ship-if not court-martialed outright-and that would probably force Anny to leave as well. Whether Rutledge was doing that simply to get his old position back, for revenge, or for some darker motive, Patric did not know. Whether Rutledge had anything to do with the welding laser explosion was also unknown. For now it seemed better to keep things simple.

"I don't think Rutledge likes me," he said.

Evan laughed. "That part I had figured out already, Patric!"

Before Frasier could follow up on his earlier statement, Patric countered with his own question: "What was that business about challenging me?"

"You have taken the oath, haven't you?" asked Frasier, looking a little puzzled.

"Yes, but no one said anything about challenges."

"I guess that's not too surprising," said Evan. "It hardly ever happens, so I guess they did not feel you needed to be warned."

"Warned about what?"

"It's all very old traditions, Patric. Most times a male protectorship is strictly short term, like when the girl goes on a trip without her parents. When it is longer term, it can either be for a widow who has no other male relations, and who does not intend to remarry, or in a situation like you and Anny have."

Frasier looked cautiously at Patric. "Ur, in situations like that, the 'male protector' is often seen as a...um...suitor. Did they happen to mention that?"

"Well, not exactly, but I sort of figured it out."

"Good," said Frasier, looking relieved. "Anyway, in those situations, it is not unknown for another suitor to try and press his claim by challenging the 'male protector'. If the protector refuses to yield, then there could be a fight."

"A fight? You mean a duel? Like with swords and all?"

"Well, sometimes. It hardly ever comes to that though."

Patric frowned. "Somehow, I don't think Rutledge was planning to challenge me for Anny."

"Of course not! He figured you would not know about the challenge and just get angry over what he was saying. Now why he should want to do that..."

"But what was that business about challenging Anny's father or her family?" asked Patric, trying to turn Evan away from Rutledge's motives.

"That's even rarer. It is possible for a challenger to call the father's judgement into question in his choice of a protector. It's a terrible insult and almost always involves some sort of internal family dispute over inheritances or something similar. To challenge the whole family is practically a declaration war between families. In the past it was something that started some bitter feuds that went on for generations. Fortunately nothing like that has happened in centuries. The Payne clan is large and powerful, there was no way Rutledge would ever want to get tangled up with them!"

"I see," said Patric. "Well, I didn't know any of that. I'm glad you came to my rescue there, Evan. Thanks."

"No problem. I just got so mad seeing Rutledge insulting you and Anny that way, and I figured you didn't know that much about our traditions. He would never have dared talk to a Grayson like he did and I couldn't stand seeing him get away with it with you. It was really despicable and that's probably why everyone else here was so happy to see him get his comeuppance."

"Well, thanks again. You're a good man, Evan."

Frasier blushed and smiled. Then he looked around a little sheepishly and his voice sank to a whisper.

"Of course it could have blown up in our faces worse than that welding laser if you had not given the right answers to my questions. It's none of my business, Patric, but was your answer about not having violated your oath really true?"

Frasier was clearly embarrassed by the question. Patric was a little taken back himself. Questions about sex were not nearly so difficult to Manticorans-or even Gryphons-as for Graysons, but it really was not anyone's business if Anny and Patric were having sex. Well, except for Anny's father, of course. Still, Frasier deserved an answer after what he had done, and Patric was glad he could give him the answer he wanted.

"Yes, Evan, it was really true."

Evan Frasier smiled, shook his head, and whistled softly.

"Then you are a better man than I am, Patric!"

**Chapter Eleven**

**P**atric McDermott stowed his bag in the overhead rack of the shuttle. He closed the rack and checked to make sure it was locked with the sure eye of an experienced spacer. Satisfied, he sat down in the seat next to Anny Payne and fastened his safety harness. Anny had just finished that same task and she smiled at him. Patric returned the smile and then looked past her, out the viewport, at the distant blue-green hills that could be seen beyond the edge of the landing field.

"I didn't think we'd be back here so soon. I'm sorry to be leaving," he said.

"Yes, it was nice, but it did not last long enough," agreed Anny.

Four days earlier, _GNS Alliance_ had been formally commissioned and transferred from her builders to the Grayson Navy. It had been a simple ceremony-much simpler than the corresponding Royal Navy ritual-but at its conclusion, the Captain had given then a welcome bit of news: Since they had finished the acceptance trials ahead of schedule, instead of hypering out for the front immediately, they would all be given three days shore leave on Grayson.

The fact that it was a surprise was doubly welcome: Anny's relations did not have time to plan any major activities as they had during their first visit and the two of them had actually been able to relax and enjoy themselves.

"It really is a beautiful world, Anny," said Patric. "I think I could come to love it with time."

"Never love it too much, Patric. One careless moment, and you could be dead."

"That's not much different from being in the Navy, now is it?" asked Patric. Anny chuckled.

Well, the dangers are a bit more obvious in our line of work-better marked, anyway."

"I guess so. It _was_ hard to believe there was any danger when we were up at the lake. I don't think I've ever seen anything as beautiful as that-except for you, of course."

Anny smiled and giggled, but then she became more serious. "Beautiful, yes, but five minutes in that water would have put you in the hospital for a month, and if you had swallowed any of it..."

"Well, I never cared much for swimming. There were more interesting things there anyway."

They both smiled. On one day of their leave, the weather had been just perfect. It had rained heavily the night before to wash the dust out of the air, and the next day was calm and sunny. The metals counts were about as low as they ever got and Anny and Patric took advantage of it. They had borrowed an air car and flown up to a remote mountain lake. The thinner air had further reduced the metals danger and Anny allowed Patric to wander for a bit without even a filter mask.

There was no one else around. They had a picnic on a blanket spread on the ground. Afterwards, Anny had tried to seduce him again. This time she had very nearly succeeded. The incredible beauty of the place; her warm and fragrant presence so close; the knowledge that they would be going off to war so very soon. Before he was really aware of it, they both had most of their clothes off and were embracing on the blanket. He had almost made love to her right there, but then the memory of the confrontation with Rutledge and Evan Frazier's admiration for his keeping his oath had spoiled the moment. Anny had been a bit annoyed. He was glad they had been able to make up before they returned to the house.

The memory of her, nearly naked in his arms, pressed so close to him, made Patric squirm slightly in his seat.

_It's going to be a long war. _

Patric knew that on the nearly all-male Grayson ships there were "medications" available to make the enforced abstinence more tolerable. _Maybe I should take a little trip down to the pharmacy when we get back aboard._

There was a small jolt as the shuttle lifted off. The world dropped away and in a few minutes they were in space.

"It's funny: as much as I enjoyed the time here on Grayson, I'll be glad to get back to the ship, too," said Patric.

"I know what you mean," replied Anny. "And I feel a lot better about going back now, knowing who else _won't_ be there."

Patric nodded. _GNS Alliance_ had five fewer officers than it had a few days before. Mark Rutledge was no longer on the ship; neither were his four friends. Rutledge, in fact, was no longer in the Navy. He had been given the option of resigning or facing a board of inquiry and possibly even a court martial. "Conduct unbecoming an officer" was the potential charge and Rutledge had chosen not to fight it. The other four had all been given dirtside assignments with formal reprimands. It would be a long time before any of them set foot on a ship again.

Patric was relieved that they were gone, but he did not feel as good about it as he should have. All five had been questioned by Captain Christopher, the Judge Advocate General's Office, and Naval Intelligence. While they eventually admitted that their actions had been with malice aforethought towards Patric and Anny, they had steadfastly denied sabotaging Patric's welding laser. They maintained that the incident had simply prompted them to do something they had been thinking about for some time. In hindsight, their actions in the wardroom had been so clumsy, it was difficult to believe that they had been able to sabotage that laser so cleverly as to defy detection by ONI's forensic people.

That meant, that it either _had_ been a freak accident, or that someone else- someone much more clever-was behind the laser explosion.

And that someone might still be aboard the ship.

That thought worried Patric even though Naval Intelligence had assigned several of their own people to take the places of the "transferred" officers. It was comforting to know that there would be people around that were looking out for the two of them, but Patric wondered just how much good they would do.

But that was not the only thing bothering Patric. After the incident in the wardroom, Patric had gotten the service records of Rutledge and his buddies from the Captain. None of them had anything particularly distinguishing about them, but Patric could not help but notice one thing:

They had all been good officers.

They all had several years of experience. Four of them had seen combat and performed creditably. Their efficiency ratings were above average and none of them had any black marks against them. They were a valuable part of _Alliance's_ crew and a credit to Grayson's Navy.

And all five of them had had their careers ruined because of Anny and Patric.

"I'm glad Rutledge and his pals won't be there," said Patric to Anny. He spoke quietly so not to be overheard by the other members of _Alliance's_ returning crew that filled the shuttle. "Still, the whole thing bothers me. I know they brought it on themselves, and it was their own prejudices and hate that did them in. But the fact remains that if we had not been there, nothing would have happened. Five officers lost because of who we are. Five people who will hate us and be our enemies for the rest of their lives. I can't help but feel a little guilty."

Anny looked at him and scowled. "You are too noble, Patric. Those five made themselves our enemies by their own choice. We did not do that. We're just lucky they're gone."

Patric was a little startled by Anny's reaction. She rarely had a bad word for anyone, and there was a sternness in her voice that he had never heard before. He saw her turn her head away from him and stare out the viewport. He could tell that she was upset and he was sorry he had said anything. The leave had been so nice; he did not want it to end on a bad note.

Y'know, it is pretty amazing," he said very casually, to change the subject. "It has been forty-three months since we arrived at the Academy. When we got there, graduation and active duty seemed impossibly far away. And it seemed to take forever for it to get any closer. But then our fourth form and the cruise just seemed to jump up out of nowhere. Then graduation. The last few months were like a blur. And here we are at last: this is what all that work has been leading to."

Anny turned back towards him and smiled. "I know, I've been thinking the same thing. We've finally arrived, and now everything seems to be moving so quickly."

[Scene Break]

"All decks report ready, sir," said the Com Officer.

"The nodes are hot, Captain, we can bring up the wedge on your command," reported the Engineering Officer.

"Course is plotted and on the board, sir," said the Astrogator.

"Signal from Grayson Traffic Control, sir. We are cleared to leave orbit."

Captain Abiel Christopher, commanding officer of _GNS Alliance_, took a deep breath.

"Mr. Sandorff, you may bring up the wedge."

"Aye, aye, sir, wedge coming up now." A few moments later the engineer looked up from his board. "Impeller wedge up and standing by, sir."

"Very well. Lieutenant Payne, bring us to heading two-two-eight, by four-nine, then take us ahead at eighty percent power."

Patric was at his station in Auxiliary Control and he was watching the bridge crew in the holodisplay in front of him. It was only three hours since the last of the crew had returned from their leave. _Alliance's_ vacation was over. It was time to get down to business.

"Aye, aye, sir," said Anny crisply. Her fingers moved quickly over her board. The main tactical display showed that the ship's maneuvering thrusters were turning her to the proper direction. As the heading indicator merged with the course vector, Anny pressed another set of buttons.

"On course, sir. Accelerating at four hundred gravities."

"Time to hyper limit?" asked Christopher.

"Two hours, thirty-nine minutes, sir," said Lieutenant Stephen Henning, the ship's Astrogator.

"Very well, steady as she goes."

The tactical display showed _Alliance's_ icon begin to move away from Grayson. At first it seemed to crawl past the swarms of other dots in the display, but it was moving faster with every moment. After a few minutes, most of the other icons had been left behind. The scale of the display changed and Grayson became a small green circle and a red line showed the ship's course leading away.

Patric had loved starships from as young an age as he could remember. His room at home had been filled with holos of ships, flat pictures of ships, models of ships and book chips about ships. He read and watched and imagined. He dreamed about ships. Now he was heading outbound on what could arguably be the most powerful warship in existence. A satisfied grin spread over his face. The only thing that was missing was the "swooshing" noise he always made when he played with his toy ships at home. Somehow it just did not seem right that this eight-and-a-half million ton juggernaut could be hurtling out into space without a sound or the slightest feeling of motion.

_Oh well, I guess nothing can be completely perfect._

Patric ran his eyes over his board, but everything was reading green. There was not a great deal for Patric to do in this situation, so he settled back in his chair to enjoy the ride.

A little over two-and-a-half hours later, the crew on the bridge and in Auxiliary Control put aside their coffee cups and checked over their boards.

"Hyper limit in five minutes, Captain," said Lieutenant Henning.

"Very well. Lieutenant Sandorff, standby on the hyper generator."

"Aye, aye, sir. Initiating charging sequence now," answered the engineer.

Patric switched his own display to the main engineering readout. Only two of Alliance's six fusion reactors had been needed to power the impellers, but now the other four came into action to feed power into the enormous capacitors that would be needed to activate the hyper generator. In a few moments all six reactors were at sixty percent of their rated outputs. Patric shook his head at the thought of how much power was being poured into those capacitors. It took a tremendous amount to translate eight and a half million tons of starship into hyperspace and the human mind could not really grasp the numbers involved.

"Lieutenant Henning, has the hyper log been updated?" asked Christopher.

"The final positional update is being received now, sir. Three minutes to hyper limit."

"Mr. Szytko, activate the Warshawski detector," said Christopher to the ship's sensor officer.

"Aye, aye, sir. Detector active, readout on automatic."

"All right, people, translation will be in one hundred eighty seconds from my mark. Engineering standby on the hyper generator, Helm, steady as she goes."

"Aye, aye, sir," answered Anny and Lieutenant Sandorff in unison.

Patric watched as the seconds counted down. As frequently as they happened, a hyperspace translation could still never be termed as "routine". There was nothing routine about being ripped from the normal universe and being hurled into that bizarre parallel existence. And once there, dangers abounded. Over the centuries, Man had learned how to minimize the dangers of hyper travel, but it would still never quite be routine for the men and women who piloted the ships.

"Capacitors at full charge, sir. Hyper generator ready to activate on your mark," said Lieutenant Sandorff.

"N-space velocity at translation will be forty-two thousand, eight hundred kilometers per second, sir, "said Anny. "Estimated velocity across the Alpha wall is thirty-four hundred KPS."

"Very well. Mister Vandergrift, sound the translation warning."

"Aye, aye, sir," answered the Communications Officer. He hit a button and a recorded voice warned the ship's crew to prepare for the jump to hyperspace.

"Thirty seconds to hyper limit," said Henning.

"Translation in fifty seconds," said Sandorff.

The seconds sped by and Patric gripped the arms of his chair. Even a normal translation did unpleasant things to his stomach and he found himself tensing up in spite of himself.

"Hyper limit passed," announced the Astrogator.

"Translation in fifteen seconds; all systems nominal."

"Standby to translate," said Captain Christopher.

The last few seconds ticked away and the engineer counted them down.

"Engaging hyper generator..._now!"_

Patric's stomach dropped out from under him and he swallowed hard to keep his coffee down. The nausea only lasted for an instant. Then he looked up at the navigation display.

They were in hyperspace.

The universe Patric had grown up in was missing. The stars, the planets, the light, everything was...somewhere else. Not gone, just not here. Patric had been in hyper a number of times, but the sense of..._aloneness_...was always the same. It was not a good thing to think about and Patric turned his mind away from it. More than one person had driven themselves mad by trying to ponder this imponderable.

"Translation complete," announced the engineer, rather unnecessarily.

"Very well," said Captain Christopher. "Mister Sandorff, begin recycling the hyper generator. We will translate up to the Beta band. Mister Henning, lay in a course for grav wave GA9834."

"Aye, aye, sir."

"Mister Szytko, anything on the Warshawski?"

"No, sir. Everything reads clear to the limit of my detection range."

After a few moments, the astrogator put the course the captain wanted up on the board and Christopher ordered Anny to come to that heading.

"Aye, aye, sir. On course at four hundred gravities."

_Alliance_ was still operating under her impeller drive. She was not in one of the gravitational "waves" that permeated hyperspace. There was a wave that grazed Grayson's hyper limit, but that was on the far side of the solar system and it did not go in the direction Christopher wanted. Grav waves were the highways of hyperspace. A ship in one of them could use its Warshawski sails to reach enormous velocities quickly and at no cost in energy at all. But sometimes a ship had to travel long distances in the "rifts" between grav waves to find one going in the right direction. Fortunately, most of the waves were stable and their locations well known.

Fifteen minutes later, the ship had used its hyper generator to translate upward into the Beta band of hyperspace. Each band of hyperspace was divided into sizable number of "sub-bands". The hyper generator was needed to translate up or down through these bands, but it did not require the huge surge of power needed to cross the "walls" that divided the major bands. Each band was progressively "smaller" than the one below it. Even though the speed of light could not be attained or exceeded in hyperspace any more than it could in N-space, the distances traveled there "counted" for more than they did in N-space. Two days of travel at 0.6 cee in the upper Beta band would result in over a light year of distance in normal space, and the ratios got better the higher you went. Even though the ship lost some of its velocity each time it shifted bands, it was still more than worth it.

Another fifteen minutes passed and the ship was in the Gamma band. Captain Christopher stretched in his chair.

"All right, we'll keep her here. Mister Henning, at our present acceleration how long until we reach that grav wave?"

"Eight hours, forty-seven minutes, sir."

"Perfect. Mister Bruns, you have the bridge. If you need me, I'll be in my quarters."

"Aye, aye, sir," said Lieutenant Commander Daniel Bruns, _Alliance's_ Second Officer.

Patric was a little surprised that the Captain had not taken the ship to the higher hyper bands. It was true that the benefits dropped off a bit as you got higher, and you lost a lot of velocity in each translation, but they still could have cut their travel time to the wave by at least half. After a moment, however, he realized why the Captain had done what he had done. Entering a grav wave was a tricky operation and you wanted your best people on the job-and eight hours from now the prime bridge watch would be on duty again.

Patric was still thinking about how much he had to learn when the next watch relieved him.

[Scene Break]

He met Anny in the Junior Officers' Mess and had a pleasant meal with her.

"Nice job at the helm, Anny."

"Thanks. I'm really getting a feel for the ship-especially now that the thrusters work properly."

Patric grinned. "I suppose that would help. You nervous about entering that grav wave?"

"A little. That's something I've never done before. I've simulated it plenty of times, but you know how that is."

"Yeah, it's never quite like the real thing."

"I'm a little surprised that Captain Christopher is going to let me do it," said Anny.

"Hey, you're the best pilot on this ship, and you've got to do it a first time eventually. I'm sure the Captain has full confidence in you." Anny smiled at him.

They were silent for a few moments and Patric looked around the compartment.

"I wonder where Evan is? I don't think he has duty now and he usually tries to join us here for meals."

Oh, he's probably getting some sleep," said Anny with a grin. "Maybe he had a busy shore leave."

"Like us," said Patric, grinning back. "A little sack time does sound good."

"Yes, it does," said Anny, stifling a yawn. "I guess I'll see you later."

"Walk you back to your quarters?"

"That sounds good, too."

[Scene Break]

"Estimated time to the grav wave?" asked Captain Christopher.

"Fifteen minutes, sir," answered Lieutenant Henning.

"Anything on the Warshawski, Mister Szytko?"

"Nothing, sir, all clear."

"Very well. Mister Sandorff, alert engineering to prepare to reconfigure from impeller drive to Warshawski sails."

"Aye, aye, sir."

"Helm, activate main thrusters."

"Aye, aye, sir," said Anny. "Thrusters standing by."

Patric watched the activity on the bridge from his station. Everyone seemed tense. What they were about to do was not especially dangerous-as if anything in this strange non-space could be called safe-but it was dangerous enough. They were about to enter a grav wave. In the early days of hyper travel, grav waves had been the doom of many ships. A ship blundering into one of them under reaction thrusters or impeller drive would be ripped apart by the intense gravitational shear. Or the impeller driven ship might be vaporized first when its drive nodes were exploded by the vastly greater energy of the grav wave. Either way, the ship and the crew were dead. Grav waves were something to be avoided at all cost.

When Doctor Adrienne Warshawski made her dual discoveries of the grav detector and the Warshawski Sail propulsion system, all that changed. The detector allowed ships to spot the grav waves (and equally deadly grav turbulence) before they ran into them, and the Warshawski Sails actually allowed the ship to use the grav wave for propulsion.

When possible, it was preferred to enter hyperspace directly into a grav wave, with the Warshawski Sail already rigged. Unfortunately, that could not always be done. Then, the ship had to make the transition from rift to grav wave and that was a tricky proposition.

No impeller drive could survive in a grav wave, so a ship's impellers had to be shut down while still clear of the wave. The Warshawski Sails could be rigged before entering the wave, but would provide no propulsion until the wave boundary was crossed. This meant that a ship had to rely entirely on its reaction thrusters for any change of course or speed. Usually a ship would line itself up for the proper entry angle to the wave while still under impeller drive and then "coast" into the wave until its sails could function. But there was always the danger of turbulence. These were rogue "grav ripples" that could be encountered anywhere in hyperspace, but seemed especially numerous on the edges of grav waves. A ship with its sails rigged could sometimes weather a weak bit of turbulence, but the best move was to avoid them altogether. In the rifts between grav waves, or in a wave, the Warshawski grav detector could warn of turbulence up to about four light minutes ahead of the ship. Unfortunately, the boundary of a grav wave produced a lot of interference. Reliable detection range there dropped to less than a light minute, and turbulence could materialize literally out of nowhere without warning. For a ship at 0.6 of lightspeed, that meant less than one hundred-twenty seconds to react. That was cutting it far too close to furl the Warshawski sails and re-deploy the impeller wedge. It was for that reason starships mounted powerful reaction thrusters. They would rarely ever be needed, but if the occasion ever arose, they might be the only thing that could save the ship from destruction.

"Time to wave boundary?" asked Captain Christopher.

"Estimate eleven minutes, thirty seconds, sir."

"Mister Vandergrift, put the ship at Condition Three-A."

"Aye, aye, sir," said the Communications Officer. A moment later, an alarm sounded throughout the ship, followed by a recorded announcement:

"Now hear this! Now hear this! Condition Three-A, repeat, Condition Three-A! All hands secure for acceleration!"

Throughout _GNS Alliance_ the crew were scrambling to lock away any loose equipment and then lock themselves into an acceleration couch with the shock frame secured. Just like during their very first exercise, the ship's inertial compensator was not able to function under these circumstances. If the thrusters had to be used at high power, the ship and its contents could be subjected to strong accelerations. Condition Three-A was nearly the highest level of readiness the ship could adopt. It differed from battle stations only in that the ship's weapons systems were not at full alert and the crew were not in skinsuits. There was little point to that precaution: if the ship did meet with disaster, there would not be any survivors no matter what they were wearing.

Minutes passed. Status lights blinked from red to green as the various decks and departments reported in. Patric and the other members of the bridge and AuxCon teams secured their own shock frames around themselves.

"We are picking up the wave boundary, estimated entry in seven minutes," said Lieutenant Henning. "Entry angle is nominal."

"The Warshawski is still clear," said Lieutenant Frank Szytko.

"All decks report at Condition Three-A, sir," said Vandergrift.

"Elapsed time?" asked Christopher.

"Five minutes, fifty seconds, sir."

"Not bad at all, but I get the feeling everyone was expecting this and it was not exactly a fair test," said Christopher with a grin.

Silence returned to the bridge and the watching crew of Auxiliary Control. The navigational display had been put on the main viewers. _Alliance's_ icon was moving towards a vast streak of red that represented grav wave GA-9834. Navigation in hyperspace was never perfect. With no detectable reference points, a ship's position could only be determined by its "hyper log" which was never one hundred percent accurate. The wave was out there, but no one knew exactly where. The Warshawski grav detector could spot a grav wave's presence at up to eight light minutes, but once again, the interference caused by the boundary made pinpointing the edge of the wave difficult. And there could still be turbulence ahead. Bit by bit the icon got closer to the wave and the estimated time to intercept wound down. At the two-minute mark, Captain Christopher broke the silence.

"Engineering, secure the impeller drive and bring up the sails. Sensors, look sharp. Helm _be_ sharp."

"Aye, aye, sir," said three voices in unison. Anny's voice sounded confident, but Patric saw her wipe the sweat off the palms of her hands on her trousers.

On his board, Patric could see a graphic representation of what Engineering was doing. The impeller wedge seemed to open up and spread out into a pair of disk shaped "sails" that projected out from the ship nearly a hundred and fifty kilometers. To him it always seemed like a bird spreading its wings or a butterfly coming out of its cocoon. He wished he could actually see it, but even if there had been some remote visual pick-up, there would not have been anything to see. The wedge was always invisible, and could only be "seen" by the distortion it caused in the light from distant stars–and there were not any stars to see here. When they entered the wave, the sails would become glittering blue disks, but right now they were invisible, too.

"Reconfiguration complete, sir," announced Sandorff. "Impellers secured, sails are fully deployed and operational."

"Washawski's still clear, sir."

"Thrusters standing by, sir," said Anny.

Seconds passed.

"Estimated wave boundary in forty-five seconds," said Henning. "We should pick it up soon." The grav detector had still not been able to locate the exact edge of the wave – interference was worse than normal.

Patric was gripping the arms of his chair again. His eyes darted back and forth between the navigational display and the ghostly image of Anny Payne at the bridge helm station. If anything happened, it would all be up to her…

"Contact!" exclaimed Szytko.

"Right on the nose!" said Henning a bit too loudly. "Wave boundary in twenty seconds."

The Warshawski grav detector had picked up the precise edge of the grav wave. As Patric watched, the navigational display updated to show the wave's true position, but the red streak hardly moved at all–Henning's navigation had indeed been "right on the nose". Henning, Szytko, and Anny all began talking in close sequence.

"Entry angle is nominal, boundary in ten seconds."

"The Warshawski is still clear."

"Sails trimmed for entry, standing by."

"Five seconds."

The three young officers seemed very excited, but suddenly the calm voice of their Captain cut through their nervous chatter:

"Very well. Ms. Payne, take us in."

"Aye, sir," said Anny.

A moment later they were in the grav wave.

"Sails responding, sir. Adjusting trim angle. Everything looks good. We can maneuver at your command, sir." The relief in Anny's voice was unmistakable. Patric let go of his chair and began to relax.

"Well done, everyone," said Captain Christopher. "Ms. Payne, you may shut down the thrusters. Mr. Vandergrift, secure the ship from Condition Three-A. Mr. Sandorff, alert Engineering that we will require the hyper generator again in fifteen minutes."

"Aye, aye, sir," said a chorus of voices.

"Course, sir?" asked the astrogator.

"We'll stay on this course for a while: I want to get deeper into this wave, Mister Henning. In the mean time, we'll translate up a few hyper bands."

Captain Christopher opened his shock frame and folded it away. The other crewmembers followed his lead. After a moment he leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs, and smiled a huge smile. He cast a satisfied look around the bridge of his ship.

"Let's see what she can do."

**Chapter Twelve**

_**A**nny was right, things were moving fast. Two weeks had passed since they left Grayson, but they had been weeks full of drills and simulations. The knowledge that at the end of their voyage they might, at last, get to put all that training to the test, lent a new urgency to it. Of course, anyone who stopped to think about it, realized that there would not likely be an enemy waiting when they came out of hyper. Alliance was travelling alone, with no escort. While there was nothing unusual about that when travelling from station to station, it would be highly unusual–not to say risky–for them to go into combat that way. Therefore, it came as no surprise to Patric that their destination proved to be another Alliance base, rather than an enemy-held star system._

_ Just which base they were at, or where it was located, was a bit of a mystery though. They had dropped out of hyper in a system with a dim red sun and a few rocky planets that would never be worth terraforming, and a single gas giant. After they had been there a few hours it became evident that this was just a temporary installation, a supply dump rather than a real base. The whole thing was clustered around the gas giant. A fuel extraction facility had been set up in low orbit around the gas giant itself, and the rest of the dump was near one of the outer moons. This consisted of little more than a series of orbiting frameworks used to keep the accumulated supplies from floating away._

_ But there certainly were a lot of ships here._

_ Most of them were cargo vessels, but there were plenty of warships, too. Not many capital ships, but several squadrons worth of battlecruisers and scores of cruisers and destroyers. Alliance settled into orbit and waited for a tanker to come and refill her fuel bunkers. It was not long afterwards that Captain Christopher was summoned to GNS Redemption, one of the other superdreadnoughts in the system, and apparently the flagship of their commanding officer. Christopher had only been gone a few minutes when a message was received directing all of the ship's bridge officers to report to the main briefing room. Patric met Anny outside the compartment._

_ "Hi," said Patric. "So what do you think?"_

_ "Well, they certainly aren't wasting any time, are they?"_

_ "Nope, come on, let's find seats."_

_ They walked into the room, which was more than large enough for all the officers. Like all superdreadnoughts, Alliance was fitted as a flagship and allowance had been made for an admiral and his staff. They quickly found two seats that had a good view of the main holo display. There were enough empty seats that they made no attempt to seat themselves in order of seniority._

_ They had only been there a few minutes when the Exec, Commander Brock, walked in and asked for their attention._

_ "All right, people, the Skipper is in a meeting with Rear Admiral John Newsum." There were a number of murmurs around the briefing room as the people tried to decide if they had ever heard of the admiral, and if so, what they could remember about him. Patric had never heard of the man. He looked at Anny, but she just shrugged._

_ "In about three minutes, we are going to be brought into the conference–along with a lot of other bridge officers, apparently–via the holo display. We are going to be briefed on what we are doing out here, so pay attention." Brock then sat down._

_ The three minutes seemed to last about ten. There was not a sound as every eye fixed itself on the holo display. Finally, the display came to life. They found themselves looking into another briefing room, almost identical to the one in which they were sitting. That was not surprising since Redemption was a Harrington class SD, just like Alliance. At first, the display showed most of the room and the people in it were too small to see clearly, but then the view zoomed in on one man in the uniform of a rear admiral of the Grayson Space Navy. He seemed fairly young, and was handsome in a rugged sort of way. One side of his mouth was curled up in a strange grin that instantly reminded Patric of Alby. The man turned his head and spoke to someone outside the view of the vision pick-up._

_ "Is everyone tied in?" Patric could not hear the reply, but the Admiral turned back to face the pickup._

_ "Good. Let's begin. Welcome everyone. I'm Rear Admiral John Newsum, the commander of Task Group 32.3. As you may have deduced by now, you are all also members of Task Group 32.3." Newsum smiled. Patric found himself liking the man already._

_ "I'm sure you are all wondering why we've dragged you way out here. I assure you there is a good reason. We are about to become part of Operation Anaconda. For those of you who are not xenobiologists, I can tell you that the anaconda is–or was—a large constricting snake from Old Earth. I'm not the one who thinks up the names for these operations, but in this case, they picked an appropriate one. We, and a lot of our comrades, are beginning operations that will hopefully crush the life out of the Peeps and put an end to this war."_

_ Patric was startled. That sort of bombast was usually reserved for civilians and the newsies. In the four T-Years he had been in the service, Patric could not remember anyone seriously talking about a war-ending operation. He began to rethink his opinion of Admiral Newsum._

_ "Big talk, eh?" said a grinning Newsum, as if he had read Patric's mind. "Well, don't start making plans for any victory celebrations yet. We've still got some hard work and hard fighting ahead of us, but Operation Anaconda might just be the beginning of the end for the Peeps. If you will bear with me, I'll give some background on what we are going to be doing and why."_

_ The Admiral turned and nodded to someone and a moment later his image was replaced with that of a large star map. Newsum's voice could still be heard._

_ "First, a quick history lesson. At the start of the war, this was the area controlled by the People's Republic."_

_ A large, lumpy, red sphere appeared, engulfing a huge volume of the map. Small labels started to blink on, picking out the systems of Haven, Manticore and few dozen other important ones._

_ "The Alliance controlled this area." A smaller and strangely shaped blue blob appeared that in many areas touched the red of the People's Republic._

_ "In the first year of the war, the Alliance made some impressive gains," said Newsum's voice. The side of the sphere nearest Manticore crumpled inward on itself and a blue indentation pushed towards Trevor's Star. After a few moments it became a pseudopod, like from some single celled creature, which slowly curled around Trevor's Star and eventually swallowed it._

_ "After Admiral White Haven's campaign to capture Trevor's Star was concluded, a long stalemate ensued as the Alliance attempted to capture Barnett and the Peeps tried desperately to hang onto it. Eventually we did take the place." The Peeps' sphere of control pulled back from Barnett and a number of other systems were abandoned as well. The blue dent in the red sphere pushed a little further towards Haven._

_ "In the last year, we have made some very impressive gains. Some of this has been because of the confusion in the Peep high command due to Amos Parnell's revelations, and some have been because of our latest technological advances. In particular, our new long range, multi-stage missiles seem to have taken them completely off guard. We have won some significant victories at relatively little cost now that we are able to deploy them in large numbers. The Peeps do not seem to have come up with a tactical answer to the MSMs and after we bloodied their noses around Maastricht and Kilburnie, they have been reluctant to engage us." The blue dent lunged forward towards the glittering red jewel of Haven again. When it stopped, only a few Peep bases remained between the Alliance and their capitol._

_ "We now have Haven itself within practical striking distance from our most forward bases. Unfortunately, Haven is very heavily fortified, and the Peeps have been concentrating their forces to defend it. Even with our MSMs, it will be some time before we can hope to launch an attack. Once the Peeps get themselves sorted out, we can probably expect some serious counterattacks to push us back. Their central position at Haven may allow them to do that before we can get those forward bases properly defended. In any event, it will be a hell of a fight to take the place._

_ "But prior to that final assault, there is a lot we can do to weaken the enemy and that is where Operation Anaconda–and us–come in. As you can see from the map, the Peeps still hold a significant amount of their empire. While it is true that many of those worlds contribute little to the Peeps' war effort, others do. Even the less productive ones are not totally worthless and there are a lot of them. Intelligence reports suggest that over half of the Peep's cruisers and destroyers are being constructed in small shipyards in those systems. If we can smash that production capability, it would be a significant blow to the enemy."_

_ Patric looked closely at the display. There were an awful lot of stars still inside the volume controlled by the People's Republic. Several million of them, actually. Only a tiny fraction of them were inhabited, and even fewer were of any real value, but it was still a mighty big chunk of space. Admiral Newsum continued:_

_ "We now have a sufficient numerical superiority that we can begin using it to strip away some of the Peep possessions. Our ultimate goal will be to isolate Haven. At the start of the war, Haven could not even feed itself. That might not be true now, but in any case, once it is cut off from outside aid, its fall will be a lot easier for us. Unfortunately, it is virtually impossible to completely interdict a star system, especially one with a powerful garrison fleet. That means the only way for us to cut Haven off is to take all of the places aid might come from._

_ "Currently, the Peeps still have about a dozen major naval bases. These are important targets and will have to be reduced eventually." A dozen stars systems began to glow brightly on the display._

_ "In addition, there are about a hundred secondary systems that we believe are making at least some measure of contribution to the Peep war effort. Some are significant and other count for much less." A scattering of smaller lights dusted the area still controlled by the Peeps._

_ "Finally, there are an unknown number of tertiary systems that are within the volume controlled by the enemy. These are splinter colonies and most are marginal at best. Some may have become more valuable since the war began; we have very little hard information on them. There could be as many as a thousand of these worlds." A cloud of even smaller lights appeared._

_ "At the start of the war, the Peeps had garrisons in virtually all of the secondary systems. They also routinely patrolled the tertiary systems and sometimes garrisoned them as well. We know that they have been stripping a lot of those garrisons down to the bone as the war has progressed. However, there are still significant garrisons in many of those systems: forts, battleships and lighter vessels. We have reason to believe that much of the repairs and refits for the Peep fleet are taking place there. It actually makes a great deal of sense: Rotate a ship in need of repairs or a refit to a small system. This not only frees up the facilities in the major bases for new construction, but it provides garrisons for those smaller systems while the refits are taking place."_

_ The holo display returned to Admiral Newsum. He stared out at his audience with a look of determination._

_ "Those garrison forces and the facilities that are serving them are our targets, ladies and gentlemen," he said. "Operation Anaconda is a vast undertaking that is going to tear the heart out of the Peep empire. Our task group is just one part of Task Force 32. The rest of the Task Force, under the command of Vice Admiral Alfred Cunningham, has already departed this base. Other task forces from various locations are, or soon will be, setting out as well."_

_ The star map returned to the holo display. A series of gold lines began snaking out from a half dozen locations. Some from easily recognized locations like Basilisk or Trevor's Star, but others seemed to originate from anonymous star systems like the one they were in._

_ "The plan is for each group to hit a half dozen Peep-held star systems, do as much damage as possible, and then return to base to resupply-and then do it again. Our primary targets will be any Peep ships we can find. Mobile units will have priority over any other target. Then come construction and repair facilities, and finally any fixed fortifications. If the target is too tough to attack without taking significant losses, we will bypass it. Our objective is to hurt the enemy with the least possible damage to ourselves. Any systems that are too tough to attack or that refuse to surrender will be left for follow up attacks by stronger forces."_

_ The holo again focused on Admiral Newsum, who paused for a moment and took a sip of water from a glass. Patric was trying to digest all of this. It really was a major operation that was being described to them. He found himself getting excited at the prospects._

_ "Any system that does surrender to us will be occupied, but in a different fashion than normal. This will be, perhaps, the biggest difference to this operation. The High Command has decided on a major shift in policy and we will be the first to carry it out._

_ "Up to this point in the war, any inhabited system that we have taken from the Peeps has been garrisoned and fortified by the Alliance to keep the Peeps from taking it back. In some of those cases it made good strategic sense to do so. In other cases we were expending a lot of resources for very little results. Unfortunately, we had a moral obligation to the people we liberated from the Peeps to defend them. After all, we are the good guys in this war and we have to act like them._

_ "Nevertheless, by being the good guys and doing the right thing, we have dragged this war out for far too many years. Every system we capture means one more system we have to garrison, and one more the Peeps don't. As we advance, our striking forces get weaker as we leave garrisons behind. Meanwhile, the Peeps' fleets are reinforced by the survivors of their garrisons and get stronger. That policy can no longer continue. There is no possibility of our leaving significant garrisons in all the systems Operation Anaconda will be passing through. Experience has also shown us that an inadequate garrison is often worse than no garrison at all. We found that out the hard way at places like Adler."_

_ Patric glanced at Anny and saw her shift uneasily in her chair. Her idol, Honor Harrington, had been captured five years earlier when she unwittingly entered a system that had been recaptured by the Peeps in a surprise raid. The look on her face was grim._

_ "Therefore," continued Newsum, "our garrisons will be adapted to the situation. For systems with no significant industry, we shall leave no garrison. We will, however, take a page from the Peeps' own book and leave behind a number of passive sensor platforms. These will be very similar to the "Argus" system the Peeps were using at the start of the war. Their purpose will be to record any comings or going from the system, so we can see if the Peeps are still interested in the place. Small ships of our own will return periodically to download the information._

_ "In systems that we feel need a garrison, it will be very small. Typically, it will consist of a cruiser and two destroyers plus some mines and a hefty number of sensor platforms. One destroyer will always be sitting passively beyond the hyper limit. Its job will be to assure that word gets back to us of any attack. The other ships will be under orders to run from any significant enemy force, and hopefully, they will be able to escape._

_ "Frankly, people, we hope the Peeps do come back. Our intention is to kill their garrisons and if they are willing to send in another garrison that we can kill later, so much the better._

_ "Of course, since we are the good guys, we do have to provide some sort of military presence on the ground to keep order among the population. This will be kept to an absolute minimum. Frankly, we are tired of having a large ground force gobbled up every time a system changes hands. The prison camps of both the Peeps and us are bursting with captured ground-pounders, and we don't intend to turn over any more of ours to their tender mercies._

_ "Accompanying us will be a number of our new Narvik class attack transports. For those of you who have not seen them, they are impressive ships. They are built on battlecruiser hulls, and by taking out most of their offensive armament, they can carry a reinforced brigade, including vehicles, assault pinnaces, and enough supplies for several years. One of these ships will be left in each of the important systems and will provide the ground garrisons. The troops they will carry have been trained to pull up stakes and get back to their transport with less than an hour's notice. With any luck, if the Peeps do come back, they will find nothing but our empty beer bottles and rations wrappers."_

_ A chuckle ran through the briefing room. Patric nodded his head. It seemed like a good plan. It was going to be rough on the planet's population though. Even a brigade could not protect the Peep sympathizers from the vengeance the locals were likely to take. And if the Peeps did come back it would be hard on those who supported the Alliance. But the Admiral was right: by trying to be too much of the good guys, the war had dragged on for nearly fifteen years and how many lives had that cost?_

_ "Well, I've kept you here listening to me talk for long enough," said Admiral Newsum. "Captain Christopher, how long for you to replenish your fuel?"_

_ Patric could not see his captain on the display, but he could hear his voice._

_ "We should be refueled in less than four hours, sir. In every other respect, Alliance is ready for space."_

_ "Excellent! I know that all the other ships of the Task Group are in similar condition. I am giving you all notice: we will be pulling out of here in exactly twelve hours. Make all your final preparations for getting under way."_

_ The Admiral took a deep breath and stared at the holo pickup. "We have a big job in front of us, people. We will be running exercises and sims all the way from here to our first target. We need to become a fighting team. I have every confidence that we will. _

"_We are going to pound the Peeps and keep pounding them until they've had enough! With God's help, we can finish this war and return safe to our loved ones! Good luck and good hunting to all of you!"_

"_Amen to that," whispered Patric. _

**Chapter Thirteen**

"**C**ongratulations, Alby!" said Ensign Tina Dougherty. "Or I suppose I should say: 'Congratulations, sir!'" Dougherty came to attention and gave an exaggerated salute. Alby looked up from his desk at his co-worker standing in the door of his new office. He glared at her.

"Give me a break, Tina! Not you, too!"

"What do you mean, Alby?" asked Tina, who looked genuinely puzzled. "It's sort of traditional to congratulate people when they get a promotion."

"Oh, please! I feel guilty enough about it as it is. The least you could do is act angry or jealous or something."

"Why should you feel guilty? And why should I be jealous?"

"C'mon, Tina! You know perfectly well! Here I am, not a year out of the Academy and they promote me. You graduated a whole class ahead of me, you do the same job, and now I'm senior to you. It's just not right and we both know it."

A smile came over Tina's face. She stepped inside the office and closed the door behind her.

"So it's that again: feeling guilty about being an aristocrat and being treated like an aristocrat." Dougherty tilted her head and looked at him quizzically. "Are you sure the elves didn't sneak in and switch you with a changeling at birth, Alby? Most people would love to be in your shoes, but you feel guilty about it."

"Of course I do! It's embarrassing!"

Tina shook her head slowly. "You are a strange bird, Alby. A nice bird, but strange. How can you grow up in the nobility, be surrounded by wealth and servants and power, and now be embarrassed by it?"

Alby was a little startled. He had never really thought about it in those terms before.

"Well, that's not quite the same thing," he said after a moment. "It was an accident of birth, but it wasn't like I was competing with someone else. Nobody was stacking the deck in my favor–and against someone else."

"Are you competing with me, Alby?

"That's not what I meant, Tina! Oh, heck, I don't know what I mean! But it's still not fair."

"Life's not fair, Alby. A trite but true saying. You're really bothered by this, aren't you?"

"I don't know. It's just that so many people think the Aristocracy are a bunch of over-privileged parasites, and this is just so obvious! I haven't earned this. You deserve it more than I do."

"Maybe, maybe not," said Tina. Her smile had faded and she looked at Alby seriously. "You have done a good job here, Alby. Your computer skills are far better than mine. And don't forget that with the changes they made at the Academy, I only graduated about three months ahead of you."

Alby was unconvinced, and it showed on his face.

Tina sat down in a chair opposite Alby's desk. Alby was relieved that Tina was not upset over his promotion, but he still felt embarrassed by it. Why couldn't his grandmother have at least waited a while longer before pushing this through?

"I don't know if there is anything much I can say to make you feel better," said Tina. "You were pretty young when you got to the Academy, weren't you, Alby?" He nodded. "And you had the shortened curriculum, too. I had the old curriculum for my first form and got some of the stuff you never did. Have you ever had any classes on Governmental Theory?"

"Not really. Some real basic stuff in school, but I was barely into secondary school when they sent me to the Academy."

"That was pretty young. You must be in a hurry," said Tina. Alby's glare returned, but he said nothing.

"Well, anyway, I've studied a bit about our form of government and others, too. Pretty boring stuff, but you might find it comforting."

"Find what comforting?"

"Alby, every system of government needs leaders. There have been thousands of different societies with thousands of different ways of picking leaders. Our system is not unique. There have been worse ones, and probably a few better ones, but the fact remains: every society has to have leaders. And inevitably, those leaders have more power and more privileges and usually more wealth than the other people around them do. Even the most democratic democracy had its privileged elite. Some of those elected 'presidents' had more wealth and power than most kings. On Manticore, we have decided to call a king a king and be done with it."

"But in the democracies, it was not hereditary," objected Alby.

"Wasn't it? The classes defined who had the wealth and who got the power just as completely as our society does. And with not much better chance for the lower classes to climb up than a commoner has to become a noble here."

Alby frowned and mulled that over.

"I will tell you one other thing, though, Alby."

"What's that?"

"We peasants do expect our betters to earn those privileges they have. You are right that some of the aristocracy are just parasites–forgive my speaking treason here– but most are not. Most do a pretty good job, and the fact that they are rich allows them to devote their efforts to serving our society. If they do that–if you do that, Alby–the rest of us can put up with it. I think that you are making a good officer, and someday you'll make a good duke."

Alby looked at Tina and a smile slowly grew on his face.

"Okay, Perfesser, thanks for the lesson–and thanks for being a good friend."

"You're welcome, I'm sure," said Dougherty. "Speaking of dukes, how's your grandfather?"

"Not so good, I'm afraid. The doctors think…"

The chime on Alby's terminal rang and interrupted him.

"Excuse me."

Alby hit the "accept message" key without looking at the call identifier. He was startled to see his mother appear on the screen. He instantly knew exactly what was about to happen…

"Alby," said his mother. "I need you to come home right away."

The look on her face told Alby everything he needed to know, but his mouth went through the motions on its own.

"Mother, is he…?"

"Yes."

"I'll be right there."

[Scene Break]

Lieutenant (j.g.) Albustus Marion Hinsworth the Seventh, heir to the Dukedom of Somerton, opened the door to his room in Hinsworth House. He stepped inside and shut the door behind him. The low murmur of the crowd of mourners downstairs was shut out as well. He walked over to the dressing table. He unfastened his sword from its belt hangers and laid it carefully on the polished wood surface. The black ribbon, wound about the gold hilt, hung over the edge. The sword belt followed, and finally the deep red sash that had been wrapped about his waist. He took off his beret and laid it on top of the pile. He then walked over to his bed and flopped down on his back. His eyes traced the wood grain in the ceiling beams as they had done so many times before.

Alby lay there for some time, his mind a blank. The stress and emotion of his grandfather's funeral had drained everything out of him. He was an empty shell. Images of the last two days flickered through his mind. But it was a holo without sound; images with no narration: The wizened husk that had lain in the coffin at the viewing. The long lines of mourners at King Michael's Cathedral in Landing. The rich and powerful of the Kingdom with black bands on their sleeves, waiting their turn to pay their respects. His father breaking down during the eulogy. His mother rushing to steady him. The enormous fleet of aircars escorting the hearse back to Somerton. The coffin sliding into the family crypt. The Queen laying flowers.

Through it all, Alby had stood, or sat, like a statue. His face as frozen as his brain. He had talked to people-he knew that he had-but he could not remember a single thing he had said. The whole situation had been so totally strange, a large part of him could not believe it was really happening. It was like he was watching someone else. He felt detached from reality. This was all some sort of dream.

No. It wasn't. The pain in the people around him had been real. His father's pain. The pain his mother felt for his father. His own pain for them both. That had been real. He had felt that. But now it was distant. Like the memory of some pain. Did it still really hurt? Or was it just the memory? Alby lay and stared at the ceiling beams.

Slowly, the images and the remembered pain faded a bit. Alby's mercilessly analytical brain started working on the situation that now faced him. He did not want to think about it, but his brain would not listen. The Duke was dead. His father was now the Duke of Somerton. In a few days the official ceremony would take place, but as of right now, his father was the Duke.

And Alby was the heir.

Heir to the Dukedom of Somerton. Heir to a vast fortune and enormous power. What did it mean? His grandfather could no longer control him. His grandmother could still try, but she had much less leverage now. Alby had many new responsibilities–and new power. As the heir, he could make certain decisions about his future. Indeed, he _had_ to make those decisions.

The biggest, and most immediate, was what to do about his naval career.

Did he want to stay in the Navy? For years he had fought the efforts of his grandparents to make him an officer. He had lost that fight. But now. Now he was the sole heir for two important families. It was true that could still change. His parents could decide to have more children. For that matter, Admiral Givens could have more children. Prolong was doing strange things to the way families and societies were structured and the full effects were just starting to be felt. But for right now, Alby was all there was. No one could condemn him if he resigned his commission and devoted himself to preparing for his role as heir and future duke. Even though becoming duke was probably two T-centuries away, it would not be unreasonable for him to leave the Navy. His grandmother would be upset, but his parents would probably welcome it.

He could do it. He could hand in his resignation tomorrow, and no one could prevent him.

But did he want to?

If anyone had asked him that two years ago, there would have been no doubt about his answer. If this had happened two years ago, he would have written his resignation on the trip home to Somerton.

But now, he was not so sure.

His feelings about the Navy had changed. His feelings about himself had changed. What to do? What to do…?

He suddenly started. He looked around and slowly realized that he had fallen asleep. The strain of the last two days had caught up with him and his body had taken charge. He checked his chrono and saw that only about a half-hour had passed. Good. He had to go back downstairs and mingle with the mourners. No one would begrudge him a half-hour to himself, but he could not stay away much longer.

Something was beeping. He sat up and tried to shake away the fatigue. His computer terminal was beeping. That was what had woken him. It would only beep like that for a priority message. Who would send him a priority message at a time like this?

Shaking his head again, he got up and crossed over to his desk. He looked at the monitor and checked the sender identification:

The Honorable Robert A. Reinstein, esq.

Alby had never heard of him. What would a lawyer want with him right now, and how did he get Alby's priority code? Alby did not want to talk to anyone–let alone a lawyer–but he pressed the "accept" key anyway.

The screen lit up and Alby was staring at man with a long, thin face and a balding forehead. He was wearing a black suit and Alby could just make out the black armband on his sleeve.

"Ah, Lord Hinsworth. I am Robert Reinstein. Please allow me to extend my condolences to you on this great tragedy. I regret to disturb you at this time, but my instructions were quite specific."

"Instructions?" asked Alby. "Instructions from whom?"

"Instructions from your grandfather, the late Duke, My Lord. I am the senior partner in Reinstein, Feldman and Ohlbaum, a law firm retained by your grandfather. We have served him for many years, and I am pleased to inform you that we are now at your service."

"That's nice," said Alby, not sure if he was angry or amused. "What if I don't want your service?"

"That is, of course, your choice, My Lord," said the man rather stiffly. "The retainer paid by your grandfather will cover our services for several decades. If you choose to terminate the retainer, the remaining funds will be returned, naturally. I'm sure we can discuss this at a more convenient time, My Lord. For the moment, I have been instructed to deliver a recorded message to you from your grandfather. He left specific instructions that you were to receive this immediately following the funeral."

Alby just stared at the man in his terminal. _A message from my grandfather? A message for me from a dead man!_ A chill ran through him.

"What…what if I don't want to watch it?"

"That, of course, is your choice, My Lord. My instructions were simply to see that you received this message at this time. What you do with it is your decision. I am downloading the message now."

Alby looked at the monitor, and another priority message was waiting in the queue.

"Thank you, My Lord," said the lawyer. "My duty for today is done. The reading of the late Duke's will is scheduled for next week and I plan to attend you at that time. If you need me before then, please feel free to contact me. Again, let me extend my profound sympathy to you and your family. Good afternoon, My Lord."

The connection was cut and Alby was left staring at a blank screen.

The little "message waiting" icon was blinking at the bottom, and the priority message chime was beeping again. Alby knew he had better listen to the message and then get downstairs, but a sense of anxiety–almost horror–was slowly filling him. If he hit the "accept" key, he would be face to face with his grandfather again. It was almost like staring at a closed coffin and needing to lift the lid to get something from inside.

Alby sat there for several minutes before he finally hit the key. Immediately, a message appeared on the screen. It told Alby that this was a recording made by his grandfather about six months ago and was to be delivered to him in the event of his death. A few moments later, he was staring at his grandfather.

He was in his bed, wearing a robe. Some medical equipment was attached to him and more was nearby. Many pillows were propping him up. The old man looked very old, indeed. In fact, he looked terrible. Alby did some quick arithmetic and realized that this was made only two months before the Duke slipped into the coma from which he never awakened.

"Well, my boy," said the image on the screen. "If you are seeing this message, then I'm dead. No doubt you are celebrating that I'm gone and I'm sure you are imagining me slowly roasting in the Infernal Regions. Oh, don't deny it! You never liked me much and I'll admit I never gave you much reason to." A ghastly grin spread over his face, but then a spasm of coughing interrupted him.

Alby was shocked at the Duke's words. _I never really hated him! Not like that! He made me angry and he wasn't fair sometimes, but I never wished him any harm! _But was that really true? Memories of himself in a rage, cursing the Old Man flashed through his head. A terrible guilt started to grow in him. _No! Damn it! He's trying to manipulate me again. He's dead, but he's still trying to control my life!_

The Duke got his coughing under control and he suddenly growled at someone off camera:

"No! Let it run! Let him see me like this, I'm sure he's enjoying it!" The Duke composed himself and looked at the camera again. He was silent for a few moments and the expression on his face grew softer.

"No, I'm not being fair to you, Alby–again. You were a spoiled, miserable little brat when you were younger, but you were never mean. You never wished harm on anyone. I know that, boy. I'm sorry we did not have more time together. Maybe things would have been different then, I don't know. But there's no use living in the past. What's done is done, and it's far too late to change things now.

"I'm not doing this to torment you, and I'm not doing this to talk about the past. I'm here to talk about the future–your future, boy. I haven't got much of a future left, but you do.

"Assuming you didn't resign your commission the moment you heard I was dead, you are still in the Navy. It would please me greatly if you would remain there for a while. I know you don't give a damn what would please me, but hear me out."

Alby was a little startled that his grandfather had been able to see right through him as thoroughly as he seemed to have. _Has he been reading my mind like this all along? That's a frightening thought!_

"Boy–Alby, I know you didn't want to go to the Academy. I can't really blame you. No one in this family has served in the military for generations. And I can't blame you for hating me for ripping you away from here and sending you off against your will. It wasn't fair to you."

Alby was even more startled. His grandfather had never apologized to anyone as far as Alby could recall. This was not exactly an apology, but it was as close as he was ever likely to get…

"But there were reasons, good reasons. Or at least I thought they were good. You probably won't agree."

His grandfather paused and took some oxygen from a mask that was at his side. He closed his eyes for a few moments and then continued.

"I'm not going to last much longer, Alby. Then your father will be the duke. Someday it will be your turn. It's a great responsibility. The Peerage are the real leaders of the Kingdom. Some would have you believe that the Crown or the Prime Minister or the Commons are really running things, but don't believe them. It has always been the Aristocracy that counts. But it's not easy. All the others are always trying to grab power from us. Everyone thinks we're out of step with the times and they're all waiting for their chance. It's a fight every minute to just hang on to…"

The Duke suddenly stopped and that hideous grin returned.

"Sounds like I'm trying to rally the party to stop some bill by the Liberals, doesn't it? Bah. That's not what I want to talk to you about. I'm getting distracted in my old age. No, what I'm trying to say, Alby, is that it takes strong men and women to run this Kingdom. We've had it too easy for too many years. Too much wealth. A false sense of our own strength. If it were not for a few farsighted individuals, the Peeps would be sitting here now.

"This war is testing us, but more tests are coming. We are going to win this war, I'm sure of that. But that's not the end, it's just the beginning. Manticore is a Great Power now. Like it or not, we are going to have an empire of our own when this is done. Others will be jealous of us. Jealous of our wealth and our strength. Some will wish us ill. There will be more wars and it will take all our strength just to survive.

"A strong nation needs strong leaders, lad. I look at our next generation of leaders and I'm afraid. Your father is not a strong man, Alby. Before you get angry, stop and think about it. I'm right, and you know it. And it's my fault. I doted on him and spoiled him. It's not an insult to say it. I'm not as strong a man as my father was either. By the time I realized what I had done, it was too late. I'm praying that he'll develop the strength when he has to."

Alby was a little angry at his grandfather's word. But he had to admit there was some truth in them.

"I could see the same thing happening to you, Alby. Your parents are fine people and they love you very much. But they dote on you and spoil you and with a couple of centuries to wait for your inheritance, I could see you becoming a worthless lay-about. Harsh words, lad, but it could have happened–it could still happen. That's why I sent you to the Academy.

"I imagine about now you are ready to scream at the display and demand what right I had to make a decision like that?"

Alby _had_ been about to do that and his grandfather's statement rocked him back.

"It was something I had to do. Not just for the good of the Kingdom or the good of the Family, but for _your_ good. Right now you are angry and you are going to deny anything I say, but think about it later–please.

"And it has done you good, Alby. I'm amazed–and pleased–with the changes I've seen in you."

The Duke stopped for a few moments and took some more oxygen. When he looked back at the camera, he had an expression Alby had never seen on him before.

"I've been watching you. After your third form, you really started to apply yourself. And I've done some checking up on what you did during your apprentice cruise. Fixing that sensor array was no easy feat. You did a good job there, a very good job. I…I'm very proud of you, grandson."

Now Alby was not startled, he was shocked. His grandfather had never said anything like that to him before! And the image on the screen seemed to be blinking back tears! The fact that he had actually checked up on what he had done, was as touching as his words. The Duke passed a hand over his eyes and sniffed a little, but then the moment passed and he was himself again.

"So I'm asking you to stay in the Navy. It's an honorable career and it will prepare you for the times ahead. It doesn't have to be your whole life. Maybe after the war you can go on half pay and pursue some other things. We can't plan too far ahead. Admiral Givens can give you good advice. She's a smart woman–listen to her.

"Alby, I made another recording for you three years ago when I was sick. The message on it was the same, but the words were very different. In a few days they will be reading my will. Most of everything goes to your father, of course, but I've left a tidy sum of money and some property to you. In that other message, you would have only gotten the money if you stayed at the Academy, gotten your commission, and spent a few years in the Navy. Blackmail? Of course! Carrot and stick.

"But things have changed. You have changed. And my will has changed. The money is yours, lad. No strings attached. I'm hoping after you get over your mad, you'll see the wisdom in my sage advice. But I can't force you anymore. The decision will be yours.

"You have made me proud, Alby. I'll try to look in on you if I can, and I hope you'll still be making me proud. Good-bye, Alby. God bless you."

The screen went blank.

Alby sat and stared at the empty display for a long time. Outwardly he was that statue that everyone had seen for the last two days, but inside his thoughts and emotions were whirling. He was angry and guilty and sad and proud and afraid all at the same time. He knew the Old Man's speech had been carefully planned to pull all the right strings. He knew he was still being manipulated from beyond the grave–and it was working! He was mad at his grandfather for doing it, and mad at himself for letting it work.

But it was working. There was no way he was going to be writing that resignation anytime soon and he knew it. _So now what am I going to do? What are my options? What…what…what…_

The analytical part of Alby's brain was evaluating all of this, but there was another part of Alby's brain, too. That part had been under rigid control for the last two days, but now it was breaking free. Even as he calculated, the tears started to roll down his cheeks. His breath came in ragged gasps that soon became sobs. Before he was really aware of it, he was crying uncontrollably. He got up from his chair and staggered back to his bed. He threw himself down on it and wept into his pillows.

**Chapter Fourteen**

**A**cting Lieutenant Helen Zilwicki sat in front of her computer terminal and watched the tiny images on her screen dancing to the tune she had just composed. _Yes, this might really work!_ She hit a button and the images replayed themselves. The eight tiny LACs, representing her squadron, shifted from a standard attack formation into a different one. It was a formation that no one but Helen had ever seen before. _It would take some training to adopt – and some real discipline to actually use – but it really might work!_ Helen watched the simulation replay itself several more times. _I'll have to set up a training sim for this. The squadron is going to hate me, until they begin to realize just what this can do for us. _

Helen checked the time. She would like to play with her new creation some more, but there was work to do. Commanding a squadron of LACs involved a lot more than just leading them into battle. There were reports to read, reports to fill out, training drills to set up and supervise, and a hundred other things. Much of it she could dump on her squadron exec, Skip Mills, but much of it she had to do herself. It was hard, demanding work.

And she loved it.

Helen was turning LAC squadron HYS-03 into her own. She was molding it and shaping it into a perfect military instrument. It was tremendously rewarding work. Helen spent sixteen hours a day on it and begrudged the hours she had to "waste" eating and washing and sleeping. It had been eight weeks since she was named the squadron commander and six weeks since they had set out from Manticore. They had been weeks of intense drill and training. Helen was determined that everyone in the squadron – including herself – was as prepared as humanly possible for what was to come.

The squadron's official designation was HYS-03. The "HY" was for the mother ship, _HMS Hydra_. The "S" stood for _Shrike_, the class of LAC they used, and the "03" indicated the third squadron. Their earlier designation of "Alpha", "Beta", "Gamma", and so on was acceptable during training, but in active service, they needed a unique call number. The original LAC carrier, _HMS Minotaur_, had used color-coded squadron designations, but now that there were six carriers in commission and more on the way, something better had been needed. No doubt someone in the Admiralty had given a great deal of thought to this system, but like parents who name their child without considering what the initials might spell, there were some unintended results. In this case, the LAC squadrons of _HMS Hydra_ were known by their crews as "Hysteria-One" through "Hysteria-Twelve". It was inevitable that this would happen, but Helen did not really mind. It had saved her from having her squadron named "Helen's Hellions" or Zilwicki's Zephyrs". Almost anything was better than that. And if they had been assigned to _HMS Basilisk_…

Helen shut off her tactical doodling and called up her schedule for the day.

_Let's see, Skip and Randy should be here any minute to go over Squadron Readiness. Then at 1100 there is the mission briefing. Simulations at 1400. Debriefing at 1800. Somewhere in there I've got to go over the engineering reports with Commander Turner. And there's still mail to censor, but that can wait._

Helen had discovered that during long periods in hyperspace when there was no chance of getting mail off the ship, a lot of people disabled the auto-censor function on their computer when writing mail. From their point of view, the delay to be censored did not matter since the mail could not be delivered anyway. Unfortunately, Helen had to manually censor the mail coming out of her squadron. She did not begrudge it and she split the duty with Mills and Huber, but this long voyage seemed to be bringing out the writers in her people!

It _had_ been a long voyage, six weeks in hyper. Helen had been right about this being a raiding mission, but she had totally missed the mark on their route or destination. That was not too surprising, since their route was Top Secret, and apparently brand new. The wormhole transit had not been to Trevor's Star or Basilisk as Helen had expected. Instead, they had gone to Phoenix. That was a surprise. The Phoenix Group was a loose confederation to the galactic "South" and "East", roughly between the People's Republic and the Solarian League. Throughout the war, Phoenix had stayed neutral, but the fact they were allowing the Alliance to send warships through their space indicated that might be about to change. More fallout from the Parnell revelations, no doubt.

Helen had extremely mixed feelings about Amos Parnell. His recent actions had been a terrible blow against the People's Republic and she should be grateful for that. But she could not ever forget that Parnell had been the head of the Republic's Navy before the coup. It had no doubt been Parnell's orders that had sent the ships that attacked Convoy MG-19. The ships that had killed her mother. Parnell was now an ally and welcome in the court of Queen Elizabeth III, but Helen had no idea what she would do if she ever found herself in the same room with him.

It may have been Parnell's actions that got Helen's task force passage through Phoenix, but they had not stayed there long. Phoenix was an oddity in that it had terminuses from two different wormholes. They had immediately taken the second wormhole to Erewhon, which was a member of the Alliance. From there they entered a powerful grav wave heading "North" and "East" And for the next six weeks had curled around the Republic's border heading for their target.

In the briefing Helen had received, she was told they were part of an operation called "Anaconda". It was a large, ambitious operation involving a dozen or more separate prongs. The objective was to smash and disrupt the Peep's huge empire of subject worlds. Most of the prongs were coming from more conventional locations like Maastricht or Basilisk, but some were coming from hidden supply dumps on the edge of Peep space. And at least one was coming from a totally unexpected direction. The idea was to hit the Peeps from many different directions with many different attack patterns, to confuse the enemy and leave him off balance.

Helen's prong, Task Force 42, had moved around to the border of the Republic almost directly opposite from Manticore. It was hoped that the Peeps would not be expecting anything so daring and would be caught off guard. Their mission was to hit a half-dozen Peep systems and in the process, cut a swath through Peep space and then link up with another prong of Operation Anaconda. They had a heavy compliment of tankers and supply ships to allow them to do this.

It was bold and Helen was very excited about the prospects. She was happy to be a part of an operation like this. In addition to hurting the Peeps, it could do good things for her career. If _Hydra_ had just been assigned to one of the main battlefleets observing Haven, the chance to distinguish herself would be slim. Those fleets would probably just be staring at the Peeps and dancing around for position for months to come. Even when action came, she would just be a tiny speck in a huge machine. If this worked as well as it could, there would be recognition and promotions all around. Of course, if something went wrong, they were an awfully long way from home…

Her door buzzer went off and startled Helen out of her daydreaming. She stood up and opened the hatch. As she expected, it was Lieutenant Sinclair "Skip" Mills and Ensign Randy Huber.

"Come in, guys, find a seat," said Helen.

"'Morning, Helen," said Mills.

"Good morning, Skipper," echoed Huber.

The three were soon seated around a small table with cups of coffee close at hand.

"Before we get on to the routine stuff," began Helen, "I want to know just what the hell happened yesterday in that sim? Did we have some sort of communications foul-up or did McNierny just go berserk? If I had not gotten pulled away for a meeting with Commander Lowell, I would have looked into it when it happened. So, what's the story?"

Skip Mills looked a little embarrassed. "I talked to her afterwards, she just said she was going after a target of opportunity."

"Target of opportunity? We are in an attack run on a heavy cruiser and she breaks formation to try and bag a frigate? Skip, that's unacceptable. What did you tell her?"

"That it was unacceptable. She said she was sorry, but she did not seem terribly sorry – after all, she did take out that frigate single handed."

"And as a result we only damaged that cruiser instead of wrecking it," said Helen angrily. "And we lost two of our own to its return fire as we moved away. If this had been real, I'd have her up on court-martial charges right now!"

"Helen, I don't think she would ever do it in a real operation," said Mills.

"You don't think? I need a better assurance than that, Skip! When the lives of my people depend on everyone doing their job, I need a _lot_ better than that!"

Mills frowned into his coffee. Helen stared at him for a few moments.

"Skip, I know it's not easy coming down hard on one of our own people. If you don't feel comfortable in the hatchet man role, I'll talk to her myself – I probably should anyway."

Mills looked a little hurt and bristled slightly. But then his expression smoothed out and he smiled a faint smile.

"No, Helen, I took Colonel DuPique's leadership course the same as you. The exec of a ship or a squadron is supposed to be the first stage in handling any discipline problem. The skipper should only get involved if the exec can't handle it. I'll have another talk with McNierny and I'll make sure she never does anything like that again."

"Skipper," said Randy Huber, speaking up for the first time. "I talked with McNierny's exec afterwards. He doesn't think McNierny was really going off like that on purpose. It's just that we had done that same sim five times already. Skipper, the people are getting a little tired. We've been training almost non-stop for fourteen weeks now. Maybe you need to let up on them a little."

"They have been working awfully hard, Helen," added Mills. "And our efficiency rating is four points higher than any of the other squadrons."

"I'm sure the Peeps will be very impressed with that," said Helen with a tinge of sarcasm in her voice. "Remind me to bring our simulator scores along when we go into action."

Now they both looked hurt. Helen felt a bit guilty, but she was also surprised at their attitude. _They know what's at stake here. We can never get too much training! But what if they are right? Sometimes you can push too hard._

"All right, gentlemen, assuming you are right and I'm overdoing it, what do you suggest we do?"

"Ur…" said Mills, clearly unprepared for the question.

"Skipper," said Huber, jumping to Mills' rescue. "We're not suggesting that we stop training, or that you demand less from the squadron. But they are a good bunch of people. They know you are giving them everything you have, and they don't want to let you down, either. But it has been pretty grueling right from the start and there has been no let up. And now this long voyage. They don't know where we are going or why. After a while all the training becomes so much of a routine, they begin to wonder if it will ever be put to any use."

"Uh, yeah, exactly what I was going to say," said Mills with a sheepish grin.

"That still does not answer my question, gentlemen, but I begin to see where you are coming from," replied Helen, grinning in turn. Her grin faded and she stared at the table for a few moments.

"So you suggest I ease up a bit on the training schedule? Give the people a chance to relax a bit?"

"I don't think it could hurt, Helen," said Mills. Huber was nodding his head, too.

"I see. I wish this had come up a bit sooner, because it poses a bit of a problem right now." Helen could see the confusion in the faces of her two subordinates. Her grin returned.

"You see, in that meeting I was called to yesterday, Commander Lowell informed the squadron commanders that we will be hitting our first target in just three days. The briefing today will give all of us the full details on the strike and then he wants us to cram as much simulator time into rehearsing it as we can."

The light that came into the eyes of the two young men seated opposite her made Helen's grin even bigger.

"Forget that I said anything, Helen!" exclaimed Mills. "When the squadron hears this, they won't even think about being tired!"

"Three days, Skipper? Couldn't they have given us more practice time than that?" asked Randy Huber. His initial expression of excitement had become one of thoughtfulness.

Helen laughed. "A minute ago you were complaining that we were training too much. Now you tell me you want more. Make up your mind, Randy!" They all laughed.

"Actually, Lowell told us that a lot of the sims we have been running have been with this attack in mind. He said that yesterday we rendezvoused with a cruiser that had gone ahead to scout the target. Don't ask me how they pulled off a rendezvous in hyper like that, but they did. Anyway, now that we have some accurate information on what's waiting for us, the Admiral wants us to begin simulating the actual mission – starting this afternoon."

"Okay, Skipper, sounds good," said Huber.

"Speaking of simulations," said Helen casually. "I want you fellows to take a look at something I've come up with." She got up and went over to her computer terminal. Huber and Mills followed. She called up the simulation she had been working on earlier and then moved aside as it played itself over and over.

Helen watched the faces of the two young officers closely. At first both of them looked a little confused. Comprehension appeared on Randy Huber's face first – as Helen had expected – but Mills was not far behind. Huber was soon sporting a devilish grin.

"Skipper, that's…_nasty_. How'd you ever come up with that?"

"Just something I've been thinking about for a while. Unfortunately, there is no way we can add something new like this in time for the coming attack, but as soon as that is over, I want to begin training the squadron on this."

"It will take quite a bit of training, Helen," said Mills. "Have you cleared this with Adams, or Lowell? They are going to want to approve something as unconventional as this."

"No, I have not talked to them about it yet. I will after we get back. But keep it in mind."

"I will, Skipper," said Huber. "Can't wait to give it a try!"

"Good. Okay, enough of this chit-chat," said Helen. "We've got a lot to get done before that briefing."

[Scene Break]

Four hours later, the trio emerged from the main briefing room and slowly made their way through the crowd of dispersing LAC crews. When they had gotten clear of the crowd, Helen turned to Huber and Mills.

"So what do you think?"

"It's going to be quite a show," said Skip Mills. "I didn't know much about Admiral Stokes before this mission, but if this is an example of his methods, he must be quite a firebrand!"

Helen noticed that Randy Huber was frowning and looking thoughtful.

"What about you, Randy?"

"Well, Skipper, if the Peeps do exactly what we expect them to, we could do some serious butt-kicking here. But if they don't, the Wing is going to be so far out on a limb, we may as well hand the Peeps the saw to cut it off with."

Helen slowly nodded her head. "It is audacious, no doubt about that. Let's just make sure that if anything does go wrong it's not HYS- Oh-Three's fault – and that we are as prepared as possible to deal with any contingencies. Come along, Gentlemen, we've got a lot to do and darn little time to do it in."

**Chapter Fifteen**

**A**ndré Courtaine, Citizen Governor of the Dalton star system, stared at the words on his computer monitor and slowly shook his head. _More execution warrants! Damn the Blacklegs! Everything was fine here until they started stirring things up!_

Courtaine had been the governor of Dalton for nearly six T-years. It was not the most important post in the People's Republic, but it was a good one. Dalton was a reasonably prosperous system with little unrest. The climate was good and there was a decent amount of industry both on-planet and off. It did a fair amount of trade with Phoenix and the Solarians, and it was about as far from the War as it could be.

Courtaine had been a minor bureaucrat before the coup – _the first coup_ – and by working hard and cozying up to the right people, he had finally gotten this assignment. He was a competent administrator with just the right amount of ambition. Enough to get himself noticed and promoted, but not so much to get himself involved in the volatile and dangerous politics of Haven.

_But it's getting dangerous enough, even way out here, isn't it?_

For five years, Courtaine had ruled this system well for his masters on Haven. He felt that he was a good and honest man. Of course he had skimmed a few funds out of the budget for his personal use, but that was standard procedure and no one would begrudge him that. He had been just with the people of the system and things had been going about as well as could be.

Then Amos Parnell had risen from the dead and everything had started to go to hell. Courtaine had actually met Parnell before the war, but he assumed he was dead, just as the Office of Public Information had stated. But suddenly he was alive again and what he had to say had blown the lid off the whole Harris assassination. Courtaine had always suspected that Pierre had been behind the first coup, but he was smart enough never to say so – even to his wife.

No doubt others had suspected as well, and when the truth was finally revealed, things had exploded. Esther McQueen had attempted a coup. It had failed, but a large portion of the Fleet had rallied to her assistance and eventually an uneasy truce had been arranged. Courtaine's information was better than most people's, but there were still a lot of holes in it. From what he had been able to learn, the Navy was virtually holding the Assembly, the Committee of Public Safety – and Robert Pierre and Oscar Saint-Just as hostages. But there was still a power struggle going on. The vast network of State Security that Saint-Just had created was still there and it was working overtime to put the sinister little man who ran it back in control.

The Fleet around Haven was loyal to McQueen, but much of Haven's Fortress Command was in the hands of the Blacklegs. In addition, they had been taking measures to assure that every other ship and system outside of McQueen's immediate control was completely loyal to the Committee of Public Safety. About six months earlier a horde of State Security people had descended on Dalton to root out "traitors". The Naval base had been occupied and its personnel were virtual prisoners - a number of them had been shot. Blacklegs were roaming the streets of Dalton's cities stirring up the people. Since it was State Security's job to find traitors, it was unacceptable for there to be no traitors on Dalton. Therefore they found traitors – and executed them. Which naturally outraged the people, which in turn spawned more traitors as they dared to protest. The most vicious of all circles was taking shape.

_I suppose I should be grateful that I'm still the governor. The fact that I'm having to sign these execution warrants means they still consider me the rightful authority here. But God! I've signed more of these damn things in two weeks than I have in the past five years!_

He knew that Dalton was not the only place this was happening. He had periodic contact with the other governors over issues of trade and security, and the story was the same from everywhere. He had begun to hear some very disturbing rumors, too. Not just about the atrocities – he expected that – but there was whispered talk of revolution. There were people proposing that the whole southeastern part of the Republic should break away and form its own government. Toss out the Blacklegs, make a separate peace with the Manties, and go their own way. It was insane.

Courtaine was a practical man. He was also an intelligent one who had read some history. He knew what was happening. He recognized all the signs.

_It's falling apart. The Republic is dying. If the Manties don't finish us off, we'll cut our own throats. Thank God Marie and the kids are here with me instead of back on Haven!_

The fact that he had been allowed to have his family with him was a mark of the trust his superiors had in him. Hopefully they did not know of the arrangements Courtaine had quietly made to get himself and his family off Dalton and into safety in the Solarian League if things got too bad.

_Of course they don't know! _ He reassured himself, _If they did know, I'd be dead already. I just hope that when the time comes I can…_

His intercom buzzed and startled him.

"Yes?" he said a little gruffly.

"Citizen Admiral Ezram wishes to speak with you, Citizen Governor," said his secretary.

"Very well, put her through."

The screen lit up on his terminal and he was looking at the woman who theoretically commanded all of the Republic's military forces in the Dalton star system.

"Good day, Citizen Admiral, what can I do for you?" he asked.

"I'm afraid we have a serious situation developing, Citizen Governor," began the Admiral. The look on her face and the fact that the habitually polite Virginia Ezram had not even returned his greeting convinced Courtaine that whatever it was had to be very serious, indeed. "We have detected multiple hyper footprints in the outer part of the system. At least fifty of them. We have no identification on them yet, but I have to assume they are enemy vessels. I am going to have to make some important decisions concerning the defense of Dalton, and I would appreciate it if you could join me at my headquarters as soon as possible, Citizen Governor."

Courtaine swallowed and tried to keep his face from revealing the shock he felt. _Manties here?! We're three hundred light years from the front!_

"I'll be right there, Citizen Admiral."

[Scene Break]

Courtaine had been at the System Defense Headquarters a number of times, but he had never seen it the scurrying hive of activity it was now. Normally, it had been a quiet place with people moving calmly and purposefully about. Today, however, there were scores of officers and ratings dashing here and there and a low babble of voices filled the place. The number of nervous-looking State Security people there was also a bit of a shock. _Surely, they don't need a Blackleg standing behind each and every person!_

Courtaine and his assistant were ushered into the main command room. Things seemed a bit more orderly there, but the sense of anxiety and excitement could not be missed. The room was very large, with rows of control consoles forming a half ring around the central holo display. He saw Citizen Admiral Ezram standing in front of the huge tactical read-out. On one side of her was the People's Commissioner assigned as her watchdog. On her other side was Citizen General Calvin Hartz, the commander of all State Security forces in the Dalton system. The Admiral turned as Courtaine approached.

"Ah, Citizen Governor. Thank you for coming so quickly. You know the Citizen General, of course."

"Yes, good to see you again, Citizen General," lied Courtaine. The StateSec man just nodded. "What is happening, Citizen Admiral?"

"At the moment, nothing. There are seventy unidentified, but presumably hostile ships, sitting about forty light minutes from here. They are well outside the hyper limit and about twenty degrees above the plane of the ecliptic."

"Seventy! That's a powerful force, isn't it, Citizen Admiral? And they are just sitting there?"

"It could be a very powerful force, Citizen Governor. Twenty-four of the ships appear massive enough to be capital ships, but I am betting that they are not. As for why they are sitting there, I think we'll find that out in just a few minutes."

"Explain, please," said Hartz, speaking for the first time.

"As far as the ship classes are concerned, Citizen General," said Ezram carefully, "A force that size would need a considerable logistical train to get this far from Alliance space. Also, I cannot believe that the Alliance could detach three full battle squadrons for a raid this deep into our territory. I am convinced that most of those 'capital ships' out there are actually fast supply ships and tankers. As for their apparent inaction, I imagine a message is on its way to us as we speak. Given the lightspeed delay we should be receiving it just about now."

"A communication from the enemy? What about?" demanded Hartz.

"Assuming they are the Manticorans, Citizen General, they must realize, considering our location, the chance of there being neutral shipping present. They will be scrupulously proper about allowing it to withdraw before they attack."

Courtaine nodded. That made sense. Considering how galactic opinion had tilted in favor of Manticore recently, the last thing they would want would be an "unfortunate incident" involving some neutral vessel. Courtaine had considerable respect for Ezram's ability and he turned his attention to the com station, fully expecting the message she predicted to arrive. Unfortunately, the Manties were late and several long minutes passed before it actually did arrive – ruining the Citizen Admiral's attempt at prescience.

However, the message _did_ arrive and it was as Ezram had predicted. The intruders identified themselves as warships of the Manticoran Alliance. Their intentions were to attack any and all ships or space based installations belonging to the People's Republic in the Dalton system. They gave all neutral shipping four hours to evacuate – after they were inspected. They further advised that all orbital facilities be evacuated to avoid loss of life. Finally, they called upon the defenders to surrender rather than face attack. Citizen Admiral Ezram snorted at the last part.

"Not today, Manty. You can't bluff us, and if I'm right about those supply ships, you can't beat us, either." She turned to the two men standing next to her.

"However, they can hurt us. Citizen Governor, Citizen General, I am going to issue orders evacuating all the unarmed orbital facilities."

"Is that really necessary, Citizen Admiral?" asked Hartz. "Those installations are all involved in important war production, are they not?"

"Indeed they are, Citizen General. And that will make them prime targets for the Manties. We will do our best to protect those installations, but if the enemy does attack, it is inevitable that they will be damaged, perhaps heavily. The skilled workers that run those installations are probably more valuable to us than the hardware itself. The loss of production caused by evacuation is trivial compared to the loss of those workers."

"Very well, you may proceed," said Hartz.

The look on Ezram's face made it clear that she had not been asking permission for her actions. Hartz may have had a hundred armed men at hand, but Citizen Admiral Virginia Ezram was still in charge here. Her own People's Commissioner, a mousy woman whose name escaped Courtaine, glanced nervously at the Admiral and the General. While Ezram had her eyes locked with the StateSec man, an officer approached.

"Excuse me, Citizen Admiral. There are currently fourteen neutral merchant vessels in orbit. All are requesting permission to leave orbit and comply with the enemy's call to evacuate."

"Very well, James. They can go. You can also proceed with the order to evacuate the orbital stations."

"Aye, aye, Citizen Admiral."

"Are you sure it's wise to let them go, Citizen Admiral?" asked Hartz. "If they were kept in orbit would not the enemy be less likely to attack?"

A chill went through Courtaine. _He can't be serious! If we held Solarian ships as hostages God knows what the Sollies would do!_

"That would be a serious mistake, Citizen General," said Ezram with the distaste evident on her face. "That would be a violation of the Rules of War. The Solarians and Phoenix have consulates here. I think they would both protest in the strongest term if we attempted to use their ships as shields."

"I see," said Hartz, simply. He treated his suggestion that they risk war with the Solarian League and the Phoenix Group as nothing especially important.

"Status change!" said one of the officers seated at the rows of control consoles. Everyone looked at the display. The huge red icon representing the enemy force had split off three smaller ones.

"Three small detachments, Citizen Admiral," reported the officer. "It looks like four destroyers or light cruisers in each. They are moving obliquely, probably to take up interdiction positions."

"What does that mean, Citizen Admiral?" asked Courtaine.

"Standard procedure, Citizen Governor. Those three groups will position themselves to form a rough tetrahedron with the main force. They will attempt to intercept any ships trying to flee the system."

"Meaning we will be cut off?"

"Not really, there are not enough of them and they will be too widely spaced to catch a warship. They are there to see than none of our own merchant ships can get away. Fortunately, there are only four in orbit right now and they are going to stay put. For your information, Citizen Governor, I have already dispatched a courier to the Fleet Base at Exton. Another will wait beyond the hyper limit until we have better data on the composition of the enemy force."

"When can we expect reinforcements?"

"That is an excellent question, Citizen Governor," said Ezram with a sour laugh. "It would take a minimum of two weeks for any help to arrive, but that is assuming there is any help to send. The force at Exton has been severely reduced since the war began. The last reports I had indicated there was not much they could send to us."

"So we are on our own," whispered Courtaine.

"Yes, we are on our own, but we are in good shape, Citizen Governor. You need not worry."

"What are your plans, Citizen Admiral?" asked Hartz.

"We have numerous defense plans, Citizen General. I will not know which one I will put into effect until I see what the enemy intends to do."

"So we wait?"

"We wait."

[Scene Break]

It was the longest four hours of André Courtaine's life. The ominous red blob just hung in the tactical display. The three smaller icons took up the positions that Ezram had predicted. The neutral merchant ships rendezvoused with one of the Manty detachments, were inspected, and hypered out. The officers of System Defense Headquarters continued to bustle about and Citizen Admiral Ezram was often called away for one reason or another. Courtaine had absolutely nothing to do. He sent his aide off to initiate the standard Civil Defense procedures, but after that, all he could do was sit. After two hours he made a call to Marie to assure her that everything was all right. Then he sat and drank far too much coffee and watched the tactical display.

The minutes ticked away and almost exactly four hours after they had received the enemy's communications, the blob began to move.

"Status change!" said an officer excitedly. He hardly need have bothered, every eye in the room was already looking at the display.

"All right, now let's see just what we are facing," said Ezram who was standing nearby.

Several minutes passed and the red blob suddenly broke down into smaller icons. The display zoomed in closer and code letters began appearing next to the new red dots. Courtaine slowly realized that the enemy force was not scattering: the Navy's sensors were now getting enough data to begin identifying the types of the ships facing them. As he continued to watch, however, it became apparent that they were splitting into two groups.

"Very good," said Ezram who now wore a smile on her face. "As I predicted, twenty of those ships are just support vessels. You can see them moving off with a small escort. What we have coming at us seems to be four dreadnoughts, eight battlecruisers, ten heavy cruisers and ten destroyers. A powerful force, to be sure, but not that powerful. Gentlemen, if you would accompany me to my briefing room, we can make some plans."

Courtaine got up and followed the Admiral. Hartz and a number of other officers came along as well. Shortly they were seated in a comfortable briefing room. Another, smaller, holo-display showed the situation. A red line was drawn from the enemy force that seemed to pass close by the planet of Dalton. Numerous blue icons clustered around the planet itself.

"As you can see, the enemy had begun a standard high-speed attack run," said Virginia Ezram. "In about two hours they will begin launching missiles, and a half-hour later, the missiles will arrive. After they have gone by, I expect the enemy ships to decelerate, turn around and do it again." The red line on the display curved away from the planet, looped around, and then headed back again.

"Our primary line of defense is, of course, our three orbital fortresses. These are fairly old _Verdun_ class, about ten million tons each. In spite of their age, they are heavily armed and armored and have extremely capable missile defenses. We also have the minefields, but sadly they are badly outdated and not terribly dense. We have a few hundred more mines in reserve, but I am not putting much faith in them."

"Why are the minefields so inadequate, Citizen Admiral? Surely you have the facilities to produce them here," demanded Citizen General Hartz.

"I am afraid we do not. As I am sure you are aware, all military production is dictated by the Octagon back on Haven. Dalton has never been authorized to produce missiles or mines. We are dependent on other systems for those items and in spite of repeated requests, we have not had sufficient priority to receive them."

Courtaine frowned. He knew precisely why Dalton had no factories producing missiles or mines. It was a very old policy that may have made sense before the war, but was sheer insanity now. Dalton had shipbuilding and ship repair facilities. It could build ships, but it could not build the weapons to go into the ships. Other worlds in Haven's empire could build the weapons, but not the ships. It was all carefully calculated so that no one subject world could produce everything it needed to arm itself. In the event of a successful rebellion, the rebels would have to create vital parts of their defense industry from scratch – if they were allowed the time. Only full fleet bases – worlds so heavily garrisoned that no rebellion was possible – were permitted to have all the war-making tools. His frown deepened as he thought about those whispered rumors of rebellion – perhaps the policy was not so insane after all…

"I see," said Hartz.

"Finally," continued Ezram, "We have our mobile forces. These consist of three battleships, two battlecruisers, four heavy cruisers and six destroyers. We also have thirty ancient LACs, but they are virtually useless. Two of the destroyers and ten of the LACs were on patrol beyond the hyper limit. You can see their positions here on the display." A sprinkling of blue icons appeared. "Unfortunately, none of them are in very useful positions right now. I've ordered them to move at low speed towards the enemy transports in hopes that they could get in a lucky shot and bag a few of them. It is a slim hope, I'm afraid."

"What about that dreadnought, the _Davout_?" asked Hartz.

Ezram frowned. "That is the really sad part to all of this. The Manties could not have picked a worse time to attack. The dreadnought _Davout_ is here undergoing extensive repairs and a refit. It would be a valuable addition to our defense if she were operational. Unfortunately, her entire forward impeller ring had been dismantled. Even working around the clock, it would be at least two weeks before she could get her wedge up. Until then, she is useless to us. I've ordered the work crews evacuated. I'm hoping the Manties don't notice her, but if they do, I'm sure they will destroy her."

"That is a rather defeatist attitude, isn't it, Citizen Admiral? Surely our glorious workers would be willing to run the same risks as the other defenders of this system. With the proper attitude, they may be able to get that ship working much sooner than you believe."

"Citizen General," said Ezram, clearly annoyed. "It would take a major miracle to get that ship combat ready in less than two weeks. This attack will be over – one way or another – long before then. Putting those workers back on that ship would only get them killed to no purpose." The two locked eyes again.

"Then what is your plan, Citizen Admiral?" asked Hartz after several tense moments.

"My plan is to minimize the amount of damage the enemy can do to us and hope they go away, Citizen General."

"What! Surely you are joking!" exclaimed Hartz. Courtaine was a bit startled, himself.

"Not at all," said Ezram. She was clearly still annoyed at Hartz questioning her decisions, but she was also clearly enjoying his discomfiture at her remark. "We have an interesting situation here. Both sides have objectives and neither side can hope to fully achieve them. The Manties would like to wreck this system, but they can't. Our fortresses are simply too tough. They can throw missiles at them from now until doomsday – well, for weeks anyway – without seriously hurting them. They could possibly destroy them by closing to energy range, but only at the cost of virtually their entire force. I do not believe they are here on a suicide mission, so we can rule that out. They will have to be satisfied with doing whatever damage they can to our orbiting facilities.

"We, on the other hand, would like to hurt them as badly as we can. Unfortunately, they are not likely to allow that and there is little we can do about it."

"Why not? If the fortresses are so powerful and you have those battleships, you should be able to hurt them pretty badly, I would think," said the StateSec General.

"In theory, yes. But only if the Manties are stupid enough to let us. If you will look at the monitor, you will see a yellow sphere." The Citizen Admiral touched the display controls and the sphere appeared. "That is the effective missile range of the fortresses. If the Manties stay on their present course, they will pass through the sphere and we can engage them. Unfortunately, they will not do that. When they reach about this point, they will launch their missiles." A dot glowed on the line indicating the enemy's course. "I estimate they will launch between fifteen and twenty salvoes – several thousand missiles. But their drives will not activate immediately. The salvoes will just coast along in one big group. Once the missiles have been launched, the enemy ships will accelerate at right angles, away from Dalton, and bend their course so that it stays outside the fortresses' missile envelope. At the proper moment, all of the missiles drives will activate and the missiles will change their course to attack us.

"Our fortresses can move, of course, but only at about fifty gravities of acceleration. Even if we lunged out at the Manties, they would still be able to avoid us. And by doing so, we would leave all the installations around Dalton without the protection of the fortresses against the enemy's missiles."

"But what about our ships? They can move a lot faster."

"True, they can. But if the ships went out to engage the Manties, they would have to do so alone, without the help of the fortresses. That, Citizen General, would not only be suicide, it would be giving the Manties exactly what they want. The enemy force out-masses our ships by nearly three to one. Their actual fighting power is even greater. No doubt our ships could hurt the enemy somewhat, but only at the cost of their destruction. I am quite sure that the Manties' primary target is our warships – they would like nothing better than for us to send them out where they can get at them."

"So what are our ships going to do? Hide?" The scorn in Hartz's voice was unmistakable.

"Exactly, Citizen General. That is exactly what they are going to do. The fortresses will position themselves to stay between the enemy and the planet. In that way, they will be able to provide the maximum protection for our orbital installations. Our ships will take up a position just outside the atmosphere of Dalton and keep the planet between themselves and the enemy. It will be extremely hard for any enemy missiles to reach them there. Not only should our ships be safe there, but they will be in a perfect reserve position to come out and support the fortresses if the enemy should try to press into energy range."

"What sort of damage do you think the enemy will be able to do, Citizen Admiral?" asked Courtaine. He could see that Hartz was not happy with Ezram's plan, and he hoped to head off another confrontation.

The Admiral's attention had been so fixed upon the StateSec general that she seemed startled by Courtaine's question.

"I imagine the enemy will make ten or twelve attack runs before they run low on missiles. They will, no doubt, rendezvous with those supply ships at some point, and re-munition. Even so, there is a limit to how many they can have with them. Our fortresses will take some damage, but they are built to take it. I am also expecting considerable damage to the orbital installations. We will try to minimize it, but some of those missiles will get through. With any luck, damage to our ships should be minimal. Finally, I fully expect to lose the VLSA."

"VLSA? What is that?" asked Hartz.

"The Very Large Sensor Array, Citizen General." Ezram touched the display controls and a large blue icon came to life above the planet. "Four hundred thousand square kilometers of extremely sensitive sensors. It is the VLSA that is allowing us to track the enemy so precisely at such a distance. Unfortunately, it is virtually indefensible. Compared to a ship, it is about as substantial as a soap bubble. Just to keep the planet's tidal forces from tearing it apart, it has to be kept in an extremely high orbit – over two million kilometers. At that distance, the fortresses will only be able to give it minimal missile defense. Fortunately, its sheer size will require quite a few missiles to destroy it."

"And when it is destroyed? What does that mean for our defense?"

"Our tracking ability will be degraded. We still have other sensors, including platforms further out-system, but nothing as sensitive as the VLSA. The enemy will be able to maneuver at extreme distances outside our detection range and our missile defenses will not be as effective. Its loss will hurt us, but not fatally. Have no fear, Gentlemen, Dalton _will_ be held."

Citizen Admiral Virginia Ezram fixed Courtaine and Hartz in her gaze. Confidence radiated from her and Courtaine felt better than he had in hours.

"Now, let's go and do it," said Ezram.

[Scene Break]

It went exactly as she described.

The Manties fired off their missiles – almost three thousand of them – and then crabbed aside to stay out of the defender's missile range. Courtaine looked on numbly as the icon representing the huge salvo bore down on Dalton – bore down on him! The Admiral's words of assurance seemed very flimsy just at that moment.

But then the three fortresses began spewing countermissiles. Each fort could bring nearly a hundred launchers to bear, five or six times the number of a typical ship of the wall. And these missiles had the extremely accurate sensor readings of the VLSA to guide them. In spite of the Manties' superior electronics, in spite of their decoys and jammers, the CMs began to tear holes in that huge salvo as soon as it came into range. The numbers reeled down. Three thousand became two thousand, then one thousand. Only five hundred got within range of the forts' equally impressive point defense lasers. Less than one hundred survived to reach attack range. Courtaine stiffened as if he expected to feel some sort of impact - even though he was safely inside a building on the surface of the planet. But there was nothing to feel. The enemy missiles vanished from the tactical display, to be replaced by information on the damage they had inflicted.

Throughout the attack, Citizen Admiral Ezram had stood motionless a few meters away. Now she stirred and consulted with some of her officers. After a few minutes she turned to Courtaine.

"Not too bad, Citizen Governor. A few more missiles made it through than I had hoped. The enemy penetration aides continue to improve faster than we can counter them – and what we have here is not even our best. Damage has been light. The forts took a few hits, but the damage is minor. Several of the orbital factories were hit as well. We can't estimate the extent of the damage at this time. None of our warships were damaged. The VLSA took about a dozen direct hits, but it is basically unharmed."

"Unharmed? From a direct hit with nuclear missiles?" asked Courtaine incredulously.

Virginia Ezram smiled. "I don't blame you, Citizen Governor. Engineering on that scale _is_ hard to fathom. It is true that each of those nukes probably vaporized or otherwise wrecked several hundred square kilometers of the array, but that is only a tiny fraction of it. If you want exact figures, we lost about two percent of the array."

"Two percent. Then it could survive fifty more attacks like that?"

"No, I'm afraid not. As I said, the overall structure is quite fragile. Eventually, if too much of it is destroyed, it will come apart like wet tissue paper. But I hope it will last through four or five more strikes – unless the enemy concentrates more fire on it."

"I see," said Courtaine. "What happens now?"

"Again, we wait. As you can see from the tactical display, the enemy is decelerating. In about two hours they will have come to a halt and will start back in on their next run. I expect another attack in a little over four hours."

Courtaine shook his head. Hours of waiting capped by a few minutes of intense action. He was not sure how much of this he could stand. He ran his hand over his face and was surprised that it came away covered with sweat.

"Citizen Governor," said Virginia Ezram, looking at him closely. "This is going to go on for several days in all likelihood. I would suggest that you go home and try to get some rest. I will inform you immediately if there is any significant change."

_Go home? At a time like this? _It seemed unthinkable, but what could he do here? He was just taking up space. And as the adrenaline drained from his system he realized just how tired he really was. It would be nice to lie down for a while…

"Very well, Citizen Admiral. I'll take your suggestion. I will return in the morning, but please contact me if anything changes."

"Of course, Citizen Governor. Have a pleasant evening and please give my regards to your wife and children."

[Scene Break]

He did not go straight home. He stopped back at his office and taped a message for the public. He told them of the gallant men and women defending them and urged everyone to keep calm. There were some reports of panic, but the police – and the Blacklegs – were keeping order. He issued a few directives and then he went home. It was nearly dinnertime.

As he arrived at his house and was greeted by his wife and children, he was struck by the incredible contrast to the System Defense Headquarters. Everything seemed totally unreal and he was not sure if it was his home – or the battle that he had just witnessed – that was the part he could not believe. But Marie was there and embraced him. The children clustered around him and asked excited questions about the battle. Little Jeannine was frightened that the Manties were going to get them. He tried to reassure all of them.

It was after sunset when they sat down to dinner. In the midst of it, the sky suddenly lit up with flashes and a strange flickering light. It was overcast and it seemed like a thunderstorm on a summer evening. Courtaine snuck a look at his chrono. _The next attack! Ezram said it would be visible from the ground, but I scarcely believed her. My God! Look at it! _Everyone around the dinner table had frozen and was looking at him.

"I guess we may be in for a thunderstorm," he said. The children appeared to accept it, but Marie seemed very worried. Courtaine looked around the table at his precious children and his lovely wife. The surreal feeling returned to him tenfold. Men and women were dying to protect him at that very moment! And he was eating dinner! It was just impossible…

He spent the evening playing with the children. There were a dozen calls for him, but none were from the Admiral and he ignored them. He held each child very closely before he tucked them into bed. He spent a while watching the HD news reports with Marie. Then she went to take a shower. He checked the time and went out on to the porch.

The overcast had broken up and the stars were visible. There were a great many other bright specks in the sky. The ones he could see were there to protect him, but there was an enemy up there, too. He felt naked and incredibly vulnerable. The next attack was due any minute. He took out the special glasses the Admiral's aide had given him. He set them in place and scanned the sky. Everything seemed dim.

Suddenly, a light blossomed into existence off to his left. He turned that way in time to see the dazzling speck fade away. Then there was another. And another. As he watched in awe, a wave of these tiny suns blazed into life across the sky. It was as bright as any lightning he had ever seen and his yard was lit up almost like daytime. It was incredible! It was awesome! It was beautiful! He could not believe it: energies were being released that could turn this world – and his family – into blackened cinders and it was beautiful!

The lights faded. A few more blazed up but then it seemed to be done. There had not been a sound. In fact, there was an eerie silence in the yard. None of the night creatures were making their usual noises. _They know, too!_

He heard the door open behind him and he quickly turned.

"Be careful, Marie! You should not be out here without some eye protection. I think it is over for now, but we must not take chances." He went over to his wife, who was standing just outside the door wearing her bathrobe.

"André, I'm afraid, very afraid," she whispered. He put his arms around her and she snuggled against him. He was a little surprised. Marie was not easily frightened. In many ways, she was much stronger than he.

"There really isn't anything to be afraid of. The Manties won't bombard the planet and the Admiral assures me that they won't be able to defeat her defenses."

"But you are afraid, too, I can tell," she said. "And that makes me afraid."

"Yes, I am afraid. I'm not sure why, but I am afraid."

"I love you."

"And I, you. Come, let's go to bed."

**Chapter Sixteen**

**S**quadron Commander Helen Zilwicki stared at the tactical display. She had been staring at it for hours now. There was nothing else to do and she wanted to make her crew think she was actually working on something. In fact, she had gone over the mission a hundred times in her head, and worked out every conceivable variation and contingency, hours ago. Now, there was nothing to do but wait and act busy.

She did not think she was fooling anyone.

"Well, this is certainly the most boring battle I've ever been in," said Warrant Officer Eric Whelan, breaking the silence.

"And just how many other battles have you been in, Eric?" asked Ensign Randy Huber, who knew the answer perfectly well.

"None, and if this is what they are like, I'm starting to think this 'war' business has been highly overrated."

"What's the matter, Mr. Whelan?" said Helen with a grin. "Not impressed with your first sight of the Elephant?"

"First sight of the what, Skipper?" asked several voices simultaneously.

"The Elephant. Captain Delbruck, at the Academy, used that expression a lot: 'Seeing the Elephant'. It was an old, old saying for experiencing combat for the first time. But then Delbruck _was_ the Academy's historian," explained Helen.

"Okay, but what's an 'elephant'?" asked Carol Pancoast at the Com Station.

"Apparently, some huge animal that was very impressive to see."

"What? You mean like a dinosaur or something?"

"I guess so, no wait, elephants were still around when there were people, so I guess it wasn't a dinosaur," said Helen, a little sorry she had brought this up.

"They've got dinosaurs on Pendergast, I've heard," said Karl Mondsheim, the Electronic Warfare Officer.

"I wouldn't mind seeing a dinosaur or one of those elephants right now, it would liven things up," said Whelan.

"Well, anything would be better than staring at your ugly mug for sixteen hours straight," quipped Penelope Harding at Sensors.

"Oh, Miss Penny, you've cut me to the quick! After all the nice things I've said about you…"

Helen grinned and shook her head as the crew of _Black Magic_ traded insults for the next five minutes. Even Chief Kimmel and his engineering crew got into it via the com. It was the liveliest the ship had been for hours. But eventually it died down and the silent waiting resumed.

Helen went back to staring at the tactical display.

[Scene Break]

Citizen Governor André Courtaine entered the command room at the System Defense Headquarters and looked around. It was quite a change from yesterday. The orderly quiet had returned. Men and women moved purposefully here and there with a minimum of noise. _Amazing how quickly we can get used to something! An enemy is throwing gigatons of nuclear destruction at us every four hours, and it's now routine!_

Courtaine had not quite reached the stage of considering it routine yet, but he was not nearly as nervous as he had been. A night's sleep had helped. He did not think he would be able to sleep, but the nervous exhaustion had been deeper than he realized and he had dropped off almost immediately.

He had deliberately kept to a normal morning schedule for his family's sake. Get up, shower and shave and breakfast with Marie and the kids. He savored it more than he could ever remember.

After a quick trip to his office, he had returned to Admiral Ezram's headquarters, anxious for news. When he first entered the command center, he did not see the Admiral, but after a few moments she appeared out of a side room. Courtaine was quite certain she had not slept, but you would never know it by looking at her. She was as crisp and sharp as she had been when he last saw her. In contrast, Citizen General Hartz, who was following Ezram, looked like he had slept in his clothes and he was in definite need of a shave. Courtaine was happier than ever that he had gone home last night – just to look better than the StateSec general, if for no other reason.

"Good morning, Citizen Governor," said Ezram when she caught sight of him. "I hope you had a good night's sleep."

"As a matter of fact, I did, Citizen Admiral, thank you. What is the situation here?"

"No real change. There have been a total of five attacks and they are starting a sixth. The enemy's targeting is better than I had hoped, and more missiles are getting through than I'd like, but it is not critical yet. The enemy has been including a number of sensor drones in their missile salvoes. We cannot tell them from normal missiles until their sensors go active, so destroying them at a distance is just a matter of chance. Once they do go active, we destroy them as quickly as possible, but they have gotten some good sensor readings of our defenses, and that has improved the accuracy of their follow-up attacks."

"What sort of damage have we taken?" asked Courtaine.

"The forts have taken a number of hits, but they are weathering it well. All of them are still above ninety- percent combat-ready. The minefields are virtually gone, and I am not going to deploy my reserves until it is apparent the enemy intends to close on us – if they ever do. So far none of our ships have been damaged. A few missiles have gotten close enough to fire at them, but the way we have them deployed makes them very difficult targets.

"The orbital factories have taken a lot of hits, I'm afraid, but all with laser heads. It will take direct hits with contact nukes to really destroy them and so far that has not happened."

"And, they have spotted the _Davout. _One of their sensors drones, no doubt. On the fourth and fifth attacks, a number of missiles went after her. The repair slip she was in has been largely destroyed and the ship itself took some damage." The Admiral cast a glance at Hartz. If the repair crews had still been working on her…

"At that point, I had several of our ships pull her free of the wreckage with tractors and she is now being kept close to our other vessels. I wish I had thought of doing this from the start. Without her wedge or sidewalls, she is still pretty vulnerable, but she's much safer than she was in that repair slip."

"What about the VLSA?" asked Courtaine, pleased that he had remembered the proper acronym.

Ezram frowned. "They have been expending a lot of missiles on it. It is down to seventy-three percent efficiency, and its structural integrity may be worse than that. I am hoping it will last for another two or three attacks, but I don't know if it will. How are things with the civil population, Citizen Governor?"

"Well enough, I suppose. There has been some panic, but most people are just going about their business as we have asked. They are scared, but that is understandable."

"There have been numerous curfew violation, Citizen Governor," said Citizen General Calvin Hartz. "Clearly the traitors are seeing this as an opportunity to rise up against us."

"Citizen General, violating a curfew is hardly the same thing as open rebellion. Many people are curious to see the battle. We have warned them to stay indoors and protect their eyes, but many have not listened."

"I know, and we have been arresting them in droves. So far we have been turning them over to your police, but if this continues, we shall have to take stronger methods."

"I sincerely hope that will not be necessary, Citizen General. I have also had reports that your men have been arresting hospital patients. I'm afraid I don't understand."

"Anyone entering a hospital with eye injuries caused by viewing the enemy's exploding missiles has clearly been violating the curfew, Citizen Governor. We have been seizing these patients and using the hospital's records to track down any we miss. Disobedience will not be tolerated."

"I see," said Courtaine carefully. _I see that you are insane! The planet is under attack you idiot! And you are wasting time and effort to arrest people who just want to see the pretty lights! _ Courtaine turned away and focused his eyes on the tactical display to keep himself from uttering any of the treasonous thoughts that were tumbling through his brain.

"When can we expect the next attack, Citizen Admiral?"

"In about an hour and a half, Citizen Governor, the Manties are being very punctual."

Courtaine wandered around the huge command room, looking over the shoulders of some of the men and women manning the stations. From time to time he would stare at the tactical display. He was learning how to read it better, but much of the data displayed still meant nothing to him. He tried to avoid Hartz as much as possible, and that was not too hard since he stayed close to Virginia Ezram.

The enemy ships reached their launch point and another huge wave of missiles came towards Dalton. Courtaine was not as tense as the first time, but it was still nerve-wracking to watch. This time, nearly three hundred missiles made it through the forts' defenses. Damage reports blossomed all over the tactical display, but suddenly, every eye was drawn to the readout on the VLSA.

Out in space, two million kilometers above Dalton's pole, ninety-seven missiles intersected the colossal structure of the Very Large Sensor Array. It was not accurate to say they "hit" it, because most of it was just empty space with a gossamer web of sensors strung between a supporting framework. But there were a number of ragged holes in that web and too many of the girders and trusses of the framework had already been blasted to vapor. When this new wave of missiles reached the proper distance, they detonated. Each carried a hundred-megaton warhead. The blast from each incinerated a few hundred square kilometers of the array and sent bits and pieces of it flying off to do more damage. The actual destruction only amounted to about ten percent of the total array, but it was a critical ten- percent.

The blasts sent ripples through the huge, delicate structure and it quivered like a piece of paper in the wind. Some of it tried to move one way, while a thousand kilometers away, another part was moving in the opposite direction. Small thrusters tried to null out these movements, but it was too complex. Too many parts moving in too many directions at once. The supporting framework was pushed and pulled and twisted until it could take no more. First, a cable snapped. Then a small truss buckled. A girder was suddenly sheared loose from its neighbor. As each member failed, more strain was placed on the surviving pieces.

After a few moments, a huge chunk of the array – nearly thirty thousand square kilometers of it – tore loose from the main support truss and tumbled away, breaking up into smaller pieces as it went. The sudden change in the moment of inertia for the remainder caught most of the thrusters firing in the wrong directions. The ripples and oscillations grew worse. More of the structure began to fail. For a few seconds it seemed like the thrusters might be able to recover, but then the over-stressed and abused masterpiece of mega-engineering simply fell apart. It shattered into a dozen large pieces and hundreds of smaller ones, each drifting away on its own course.

In the command center of the System Defense Headquarters, there was a muted chorus of curses and mutterings.

"Well, I'm afraid I was wrong about the Array," said Citizen Admiral Virginia Ezram. "It did not last as long as I had hoped."

"So now what?" demanded Citizen General Hartz. He was clearly at the end of his patience. "We have sat here for almost a full day doing nothing! You let the enemy pound us and pound us and you do nothing! Now a critical piece of our defense is gone. You say the enemy's fire will be even more destructive, but all you can do is shrug your shoulders! You are either an incompetent, or a traitor, Citizen Admiral!"

The activity in the command center came to a near halt as almost everyone turned to look. Courtaine's eyes flicked between Ezram and Hartz. The Blackleg general's face was red, but the slim woman facing him had expression of icy hatred. She had put up with this buffoon's meddling without complaint, but she had clearly been pushed too far. Before she could say anything, however, her People's Commissioner, who had not uttered a word the entire time Courtaine had been there, suddenly spoke up.

"Citizen General, I am convinced of the Citizen Admiral's loyalty and my reports to the Committee of Public Safety have stated as much. I think you are overreacting to this situation."

Courtaine had never thought he'd be grateful to one of these snooping watchdogs, but this time he was. Justine Rappaport –_that's her name –_ interrupted what could have been a deadly confrontation. Hartz was still fuming, but the mention of the Committee had rocked him back slightly. Rappaport reported directly to the Committee. Hartz was part of Oscar Saint-Just's organization and Saint-Just was on the Committee, but in the confused political situation that now existed, who out-ranked whom?

Virginia Ezram was still staring at the Blackleg, but she seemed to be getting her anger under control.

"You would like me to order the ships out to fight, is that what you want, Citizen General?"

"Well, anything is better than just sitting here and getting hit again and again!"

"Anything, Citizen General? Sending our ships – and our men and women – out to their destruction is better than keeping them intact? If we engaged that force out there, Citizen General, we might destroy a few of their smaller ships, do some damage to their bigger ones. We might even hurt them enough that they would break off their attacks on Dalton. But we would lose sixteen million tons of warships – and over twenty thousand of our people. Is that really worth it – just so you can feel like we are doing something?"

Virginia Ezram probably should have left out her last comment, but Courtaine could certainly understand her need to say it. Hartz flared up again, but he had no real retort to the cold facts she had presented him.

"If it will make you feel any better, Citizen General, the enemy has fired over eighteen thousands missiles at us since this battle started. That is something on the order of twenty _billion_ dollars worth of ordnance. The Manties aren't doing this for free."

Citizen Admiral Virginia Ezram turned her back on Hartz and stared at the tactical display.

[Scene Break]

Out in space, about two million kilometers from the planet Dalton, a heavily stealthed sensor drone flew through the remains of the Very Large Sensor Array. It had been launched as a follow-up to the last missile attack. Each of the previous attacks had contained a similar follow-up. Each time, the VLSA had spotted the intruder and a fort had dispatched a counter missile to destroy it.

But this time, the VLSA was not there to spot the tiny spy. This time, no missile came to destroy it. This time, it survived to see what its senders wanted to see.

The VLSA had been destroyed.

After a few moments, the drone aimed a communications laser in the direction of the receding Manticoran ships and beamed a short coded message. A number of minutes later, the message was received and decoded. It was just one word:

"Cyclops"

[Scene Break]

"Incoming message on the grav-com, ma'am!" said Carol Pancoast excitedly. The bridge crew of the LAC _Black Magic_ were suddenly more alert than they had been in hours.

"Yes?" said Helen. She hoped she seemed calm, but inside she was as excited as her young crewmembers.

"Message from the flagship, ma'am. 'Cyclops at 1432 hours.' That's all, ma'am, the message repeats twice."

"Very well, Carol, do _not_ acknowledge," said Helen with a grin.

"No ma'am! After sitting here all this time, I'm sure not going to give away the game now!"

"Fourteen-Thirty-Two hours. That's less than an hour from now. All right everyone! Bathroom check! Ya gotta go, ya wanna eat, anything else ya gotta do, do it now! It will be eleven more hours until we actually hit them, but there's no telling what might happen before then,"

"Right, Skipper!" came back a chorus of laughing voices.

"Any sign of that elephant yet?" asked Eric Whelan.

"I'll let you know."

_Black Magic_ prepared for battle.

[Scene Break]

In the command center of System Defense Headquarters, André Courtaine watched the hours pass. Sometimes he paced, sometimes he sat. From time to time he lay down on a couch in one of the lounges. And he drank coffee. Far too much coffee. He was nervous and edgy. He knew he was just getting in the way here. He really should go back to his office and take care of his end of things, but he could not tear himself away from this place. He had a need to see what was happening, to see the attacks coming and hear the damage reports. Somehow, he felt a part of it.

Two more attacks had come since the VLSA had been destroyed. As the Admiral had predicted, these had been considerably more damaging. Without the accurate readings provided by the Array, over twice as many missiles had survived to reach attack range. The forts had taken some heavy damage, but their incredibly tough construction had kept them in action. The orbital industry was also being heavily hit and even a few of the warships had taken some minor damage.

After the second of these attacks, Courtaine saw that Citizen Admiral Ezram was staring at the tactical display and frowning.

"Is something wrong, Citizen Admiral – beyond the fact that we are being attacked, of course?" he asked her.

She smiled a tired smile. "I am a little puzzled by the enemy's action, Citizen Governor. They are certainly hurting us, but they have expended a tremendous number of missiles to do it. Even though they have reserve munitions in their transports, they cannot keep this up much longer. I am somewhat surprised that they have not detached at least some of their ship – their battlecruisers for instance – to initiate fractional Cee attacks. With the VLSA gone, those would be a much more effective use of their limited ammunition."

Courtaine nodded, he had had the concept of a fractional Cee attack explained to him already. The enemy would back off a good distance – beyond detection range – and then accelerate towards the target until they have reached eighty percent of the speed of light. Then they would launch their missiles, which further accelerated until they were at ninety-nine percent of lightspeed. All of this was done beyond detection range. The missiles would come in at such high speed that the defenders would only have a few seconds to react once they detected them. The VLSA had been so sensitive that it could have picked up even coasting missiles at a sufficient distance that the forts' counter missiles could have still been effective. But now…

"Why do you think they have not done this, Citizen Admiral?"

"The only reason I can think of is that the enemy is short on time. With their current tactics, they can hit us once every four hours or so. A fractional Cee attack would require almost thirty-six hours for each cycle – accelerate, launch, decelerate, turn around and do it again. Even though they would get far more missiles through to attack range, it would take far longer. This might be good news for us."

"You mean they might be leaving soon?' asked Courtaine in sudden excitement.

"Possibly, Citizen Governor. Perhaps they have a schedule to keep to. I'm sure they would like to hit some of the other, less heavily defended, systems in this vicinity. They may have a limited time they can spend here."

"God, I hope so! I don't know about you, Virginia, but I can't take much more of this!"

Virginia Ezram smiled. Calvin Hartz was in the toilet room at the moment and she actually relaxed for the first time.

"I hope so, too, André, I hope so, too."

[Scene Break]

About two hundred million kilometers from the planet Dalton, the People's Navy light attack craft, L2348-DA, drifted through space. Its drive was cold and its active sensors locked down. It drifted and listened.

"Skipper, could you take a look at this?" asked Emil Thorpe, the craft's sensor officer.

"What's up, Emil?" said his commander.

"A real faint blip on the passive sensors. Here I'll transfer it to your display. See? There it is again."

The officer looked for a few seconds. "It's gone now."

"Yeah, it wasn't much. Looked like it was headed towards Dalton at about twenty thousand KPS."

"Hmm…probably a Manty drone or something," said the officer.

"Strange direction for it to be coming from," mused Thorpe. "Do you think we should report this, Skipper?"

"And break com silence? I don't think so! You find me something worth reporting, Emil, and I'll do it, but not for something like this."

"Right, Skipper," said Thorpe with a grin. He liked his officer and he liked the easy relationship of the crew. LAC duty was cramped and uncomfortable and boring, but they were also too small to rate a People's Commissioner. That was worth all the rest.

Emil Thorpe turned back to his sensor displays.

[Scene Break]

"Range to target: ten million-five hundred thousand kilometers," reported Ensign Randy Huber.

"All right people, things are going to start getting interesting real soon now. Karl, anything yet?" asked Lieutenant Helen Zilwicki.

"Just normal background in this direction, Skipper. They've got a lot of stuff aimed at the Task Force, though. Active sensors blazing like a supernova over that way," said Karl Mondsheim, the Electronic Warfare Officer.

"Let's hope they keep their attention," said Helen.

The palms of her hands felt sweaty, but the gloves on her skinsuit prevented her from wiping them on anything. It was almost eleven hours since the Wing had started to move; almost forty since they had launched from _Hydra_, but the next ten minutes would tell them whether all the waiting had been worth it.

After Task Force 42 emerged from hyperspace, it had sat motionless for nearly five hours while the neutral shipping had evacuated the system. But they had not been idle during those hours. The ninety-six LACs of _Hydra's_ Wing had been quietly ejected from their hanger bays and drifted out into space. Every system was either shut down or on standby. The black-painted craft had been as quiet as the empty space around them.

When the Task Force had moved away to start its first attack run on Dalton's defenses, the LACs had watched but done nothing. They had been kept informed on the progress of the battle by their own passive sensors and by periodic updates via the faster-than-light grav-com communications system. _Hydra_, herself, was masquerading as a dreadnought and attacking with the rest of the task force. Her extremely light missile battery was covered up by the huge numbers the other ships put out. The LAC crews looked on with interest as their home base pretended to be a ship of the wall. Attack after attack had gone in, but still the Wing did nothing.

Until the VLSA was destroyed.

That incredibly sensitive device could have spotted their impeller drives even from seven hundred and twenty million kilometers away.

But when it was gone, it was time for the LACs to go into action_._

At the proper moment, the Wing had brought up their drives and accelerated toward Dalton at a modest two hundred gravities. A little over three hours later, at a velocity of twenty thousand kilometers per second, they had shut down the drives and coasted.

The Task Force had made two more attacks on Dalton during that time, but those attacks – like all of the others – had been part of this huge game of misdirection. It was all intended to distract the Peeps from the real attack.

The attack _Hydra's_ LAC wing was about to deliver.

After each attack, the Task Force had swung away from Dalton. They had decelerated, turned around, and come back to launch their missiles and swing away yet again. The course they took when moving away from the planet was meant to seem random to the Peeps. Each time they came in from one direction and then retreated in another. They had rendezvoused with the transports once to take on more missiles, but other than that, the course they took seemed to make little difference. The Peeps had tracked their movements and kept their fortresses toward them and their ships away from them.

But the courses chosen by Admiral Stokes of Task Force 42 had not been random at all. The Peeps had kept their attention on the dreadnoughts and battlecruisers of the Manticoran task force - on where the threat was. Once they had started to move, the Peeps paid no attention at all to the empty patch of space the enemy had first materialized in. Why should they? There was nothing there now. Or so they thought.

The LACs of _Hydra's_ Wing had come out of that empty space, traveled over seven hundred million kilometers, and were now bearing down on Dalton. Their course was calculated to bring them within one hundred thousand kilometers of the planet and then slide by, back out into space.

And the Peeps were looking the other way.

Admiral Stokes planning had been superb. Not only were the Peeps looking the wrong direction, but also their forces were exactly where the Admiral wanted them. The Task Force was on another attack run, in fact, the missiles were already launched. The Peeps had positioned their fortresses to intercept the missiles, and their warships were huddled on the opposite side of the planet.

The side the LACs were approaching from.

The course of the Task Force and the course of the LACs were perfectly coordinated. The planet itself would mask the LACs from the fortresses' weapons during the last critical approach. The warships would be looking for any missiles that might get through the forts' defenses and leak around the planet. They were not looking to their rear. Helen had shaken her head in admiration when she had studied the plan. She had felt like a very good chess player, who routinely looked four or five moves ahead, suddenly encountering someone who could look ahead seven or eight.

"Range to target, eight million kilometers. The Task Force's missiles will enter attack range in five minutes," said Randy Huber.

"Let's hope they don't overshoot," said Eric Whelan.

"Amen to that," added Penny Harding.

"Wedge status?" asked Helen.

"We're hot in ten seconds from your order, Skipper," came Chief Kimmel's voice over the com.

"Helm, thrusters on standby."

"Yes, ma'am, and I'll keep them that way!" said Whelan.

"Anything, Karl?"

"Nothing unexpected, Skipper. They haven't spotted us yet – I hope."

"Well, if they do, we have to be ready to shoot and scoot," said Randy Huber.

Helen stared at her read-out. They were nearing the critical moment. If the enemy spotted them in the next few minutes they would be in serious trouble. They were closing on the target at more than a million kilometers every minute. They wanted to close to half a million kilometers before firing their missiles and even closer than that for their grasers. That would be six minutes from now – if they were not spotted. Hard experience had shown the error of trying to close to energy range on an alerted enemy. The _Shrikes_ were vulnerable to missile fire and if the enemy had a chance to fire many salvoes at them, they could take heavy losses. The original _Minotaur_ had lost over half her wing trying to do just that in one action.

If they were spotted far enough out, the LACs could use their high accelerations to turn away and not get hurt too badly. If they were spotted close in, they enemy would not have time to react and the LACs could get their licks in – and hopefully get back out again. But it was this final stage of closing that was the most dangerous. They were too close, and closing too fast, to turn aside, but they were far enough away that an alerted enemy could get off a dozen missile salvoes and gut the Wing before it could reply. Helen watched the display and felt her palms sweat.

The seconds ticked away and the range fell. The enemy forts were sending waves of counter missiles against the Task Force's incoming attack. Nothing at all was coming in their direction.

"Damn, this might actually work," whispered Randy Huber.

"Well, if nobody hands the Peeps that saw in the next two minutes, we're in good shape on this limb," said Helen. Randy turned towards her and laughed. Then he turned back to his display

"Missiles entering attack range…now."

Several hundred nuclear explosions erupted around the planet Dalton. Helen had no way of knowing what sort of damage they were doing, but she did not care. What was important was they were filling the space with so much electromagnetic radiation that spotting the LACs would be even more difficult for a few more critical seconds. Helen wished they had cut the timing even closer.

"Range to target, three million kilometers. Time to launch, one hundred-twenty seconds."

"Randy, check those failsafes on the missiles," ordered Helen.

"I've already checked them three times, Skipper."

"I know you have, but check them again. We can't take any chances with this."

"Right, Skipper. Okay, failsafes all read green."

The LACs' missiles were going to be used in close proximity to an inhabited world. The Solarian League had very strict laws concerning the use of weapons of mass destruction against civilian populations. There was a triple level of automatic safeguards to prevent any if the missiles from entering the planet's atmosphere and exploding, but Helen was still edgy about it.

"Anything from Commander Lowell?" asked Helen. There should not be, everything was pre-planned, but if something bad were to happen…

"Negative, ma'am, Hysteria Prime is silent," said Carol Pancoast. Everyone was so tense that no one even cracked a smile at the semi-official name for the Wing's commander.

Helen began to breathe a little easier; they had passed through the most critical stage. It would be great if the enemy did not spot them until they fired, but even now, they would have almost no time to react.

"Range to target, two million kilometers. Launch in seventy-five seconds." Randy Huber was at his Tactical Station and looked as focused as Helen had ever been.

"Very well, " said Helen. "We will fire on the mark, according to Plan Alpha. Chief, when we launch, I want that wedge up in _nine_ seconds."

"You got it, Skipper!" came Kimmel's voice.

"Range, one million kilometers. Twenty seconds to fire."

"Stand by," said Helen. After forty hours of waiting, the climactic moment was now rushing at them with dizzying speed. She wished she could send a message to the rest of her squadron, something appropriate and leader-like, but everyone knew exactly what they were supposed to do and there was no need.

"Ten seconds."

"Prepare to fire. Ready on the impellers…"

"Five seconds." Helen felt herself tensing…

"All right…_Execute!"_

The twelve squadrons of LACs from _HMS Hydra_ fired their first shots in anger.

[Scene Break]

"Missile launch in sector nine!" shouted a startled officer in the command center of System Defense Headquarters. André Courtaine's head jerked up in shock. Dozens – hundreds – of red icons were lighting up on the tactical display! He had just started to relax after the last enemy attack - what was happening now?

He looked to Citizen Admiral Ezram, but her face had gone white and she looked as shocked as anyone else in the room.

For the first time since this nightmare had started, Courtaine felt real panic.

[Scene Break]

Helen Zilwicki was jolted in her command chair as _Black Magic_ fired off its missiles from the rotary launchers. The wedge was not up yet, so there was no inertial compensator to damp out the recoils. She was briefly reminded of another fight, a fight aboard _HMS Relentless_, but the _Shrike's_ mass drivers were not nearly as powerful – and the situation, as intense as it was, was not nearly so desperate.

"All missiles away!" reported Randy Huber.

"Primary target acquired!" said Penelope Harding. "Targeting coordinates for the graser are on the board!"

"The wedge is up, ma'am, we can maneuver at your word," said Eric Whelan at the helm.

"Sixty degree yaw to port, Mr. Whelan. Randy, ready on the graser," commanded Helen.

"Aye, aye, ma'am," they answered in unison.

One thousand nine hundred and twenty missiles leaped away from the LACs. It was scarcely half the number that the Task Force fired in one of its attacks, but these missiles had been launched at point-blank range against an enemy who had no clue they were coming. By the time the last were leaving their launchers, the first were already entering attack range.

Nuclear fire exploded above Dalton. X-ray lasers tore through space to tear through sidewalls and battlesteel - and flesh and blood. Eight hundred of the missiles had been targeted on the fortresses and the orbital installations on the far side of the planet before the LAC's motion carried them out of sight.

There was no time for counter missiles. The forts' point defense lasers were able to kill some of the missiles, but the range was so short, most of them detonated mere seconds after clearing the planet. The fort closest to the point of attack, the _Douaumont_, was pounded to a near wreck. The warheads carried by the LAC's missiles were not powerful enough to cut all the way through the fort's layers of armor and destroy it entirely, but every weapon and sensor on the side facing the attack was wiped away.

More missiles with contact warheads smashed into the orbital factories and shipyards. The point defenses of the forts were too busy trying to save themselves to help save the installations. Most of them had already had holes punched through them by earlier attacks, but now they were literally blown to bits as the enemy's nukes found their targets. The damage was colossal.

But as Citizen Admiral Virginia Ezram had predicted, the forts and the shipyards were not the Manticoran's primary objective. It was the ships, huddling close to Dalton's atmosphere, that they were really after.

The men and women crewing those ships were taken even more by surprise than the crews of the forts. They had just begun to relax from the last attack by the Manticoran task force when this totally unexpected threat materialized in their rear. Critical seconds were lost as they tried to comprehend what was happening. People who had gotten up from their chairs to stretch suddenly hurled themselves back to their stations. But it was too late.

Their point defense lasers were on line, but they were trained in the wrong directions. More seconds were lost as they swung around to face the new attack. And by this time, the Peeps had simply run out of seconds.

Hundreds of missiles detonated in a rippling explosion that lit up the skies of Dalton. X-ray lasers clawed through sidewalls or smashed down the open "kilts" of the hapless warships. Some missed, to dissipate harmlessly in the planet's thick atmosphere, but most found targets.

The Peep warships were sitting ducks. Their commander had put them in a formation that made their situation even worse than it already was. They were floating just above the planet's outer atmosphere with their bows pointed directly down. This shielded the vulnerable open "throat" of their wedges from any possible attack. Any missile that came around Dalton to attack them would only find impeller wedges and sidewalls to hit. The much smaller openings in the "kilts" were angled away from the planet, so any missile coming around the planet would have to travel so far to get a shot through the opening, it would be out of range. The disposition made perfect sense against an attack from the Manty task force.

But it was perfect suicide against an attack from the other direction.

They could not even dodge. They were pointed directly at the planet. Before they could accelerate they would have to change direction with their thrusters and that would take time they did not have.

The Peeps' destroyers and cruisers were simply smothered by a storm of X-ray lasers. The light warheads of the Manticoran missiles were more than adequate to rip through their light armor. The battlecruisers and battleships were made of tougher stuff and might have survived.

But then the LACs were upon them.

"Target locked on!" said Randy Huber.

"Fire!"

The powerful graser mounted in _Black Magic's_ bow fired down the open kilt of a Peep battlecruiser as it flashed by at twenty thousand kilometers per second. The target window was open for less than two seconds, but that was all they needed. Seven more grasers from squadron HYS-03 followed. The armor on the rear hammerhead of the ship had already been shredded by a score of X-ray lasers and now the grasers drilled into the heart of the ship. Not one, but two of the fusion plants exploded and for an instant eight hundred thousand tons of warship was transformed into a miniature sun.

The other battlecruiser escaped complete destruction, but was crippled beyond hope. The three battleships fared worse. Three full squadrons of LACs had been assigned to each one of them and the volley of grasers smashed the already damaged ships to junk. They were not completely destroyed by the fire, but their doom was only minutes away. To keep their position just above the atmosphere, and with the planet between them and the Manty task force, the ships had been moving at far less than orbital velocity. They had maintained station with their thrusters. Now the thrusters had failed, along with most of the other ship systems, and the huge vessels began a long fall to the planet below. The dreadnought _Davout_, itself riddled by fire, joined them as the tractor beams holding it were destroyed. The two remaining forts on the other side of Dalton might have been able to save some of these ships, but they were desperately trying to tractor their sister that was suddenly facing a similar doom.

And then, as quickly as it began, the attack was over.

The LACs' drives came to life as they hurtled away from the planet. Accelerating at six hundred and fifty gravities they tried to put as much distance between themselves and their target as possible. By angling their course they were able to keep the planet between themselves and the forts until they were well out of energy range.

Aboard _Black Magic_, Helen and her crew let out their breaths and exchanged glances.

"Wow," said Karl Mondsheim.

"Yeah," gasped Carol Pancoast.

"Well done, people," said Helen. "Did you catch sight of that elephant, Eric?"

"I saw something that looked pretty big there, ma'am, but we didn't stick around long enough to be sure."

Smiles broke out on faces all around. They had done it! Caught the Peeps completely napping and kicked their butts halfway back to Haven! Now if they could just…

"Missile launch!" cried Penny Harding. "Forts are launching missiles, ma'am and we're the target for sure!"

"Initiate countermeasures," ordered Helen.

"Countermeasures active, ma'am," replied Mondsheim.

The Peeps had finally caught sight of them and were firing missiles at the LACs, but a quick glance at the tactical display told Helen it was a useless gesture.

"They can't catch us."

Even though the missiles could accelerate a hundred times as fast as the LACs, the initial speed advantage of their tiny foes was too great. The missiles' drives would burn out before they could hope to catch up. It would be close, but they would lose power while still a hundred thousand kilometers astern of them. Helen started to breathe a sigh of relief, but then suddenly stiffened.

_Their drives will be dead, but they'll be closing at thirty thousand kilometers a second! Less than four second's flight time!_

"Carol! Get me Hysteria Prime!"

Carol Pancoast looked startled, but she put Helen through.

"Lowell, here," said her commander.

"Commander! Those missiles will still overtake us…"

"I see it, Helen," interrupted Commander Thaddeus Lowell. While he was still on the com with her, he switched to the open circuit to the Wing.

"Heads up, everyone! Those birds can still kill us! We have to change course the instant their drives burn out or they'll run right up our tails."

Helen glanced at the tactical display; the enemy missiles were now overtaking them. Another thirty seconds and their drives would burn out, but four seconds after that…

_Changing course isn't going to do any good! Even at six hundred and fifty gravities, we'll only shift position by a few kilometers before they're on us! The Peeps' follow up salvoes will never reach us, our only good option now is to face these missiles, get off a salvo of countermissiles, put up the bow walls and pray!_

Commander Lowell reached the same conclusion as Helen about the course change, but not the same one about the best course of action.

"Belay that last instruction! Scatter! All ships scatter!"

Helen was a bit startled. It was not what she would have done, but it was better than doing nothing.

"Helm, change course! Random vector! Karl deploy decoys! Randy, stand by with the bow wall!"

The LACs of _Hydra's_ Wing exploded away from their previous course. The following missiles were confused by this sudden multiplication of targets. Between jamming, decoys, and the sudden course changes, over half of them lost their lock-ons. But sixty-two of them changed their own courses and relentlessly bored down on their targets. A hundred thousand kilometers short of their targets their power died, but they continued to close, their velocity now nearly fifty thousand kilometers per second.

Point defense lasers in the LACs spat rods of coherent light and blasted some of the missiles from the sky. A few more lost their locks at the last second and detonated harmlessly. Three dozen reached attack range. They could not maneuver, but they could still attack. Their attitude thrusters rolled them to face their targets and then they exploded. Nuclear bombs pumped the X-ray lasers in the few microseconds before they consumed themselves and hundreds of beams of destruction showered through the LAC's formation. Most of them missed their tiny targets. Others hit impenetrable impeller wedges. Some were deflected by the side or bow walls. But three of them struck home. A LAC in squadron HYS-07 was damaged, but somehow survived. Two others exploded into balls of fire.

One of them was LAC HYS-03-02; commanded by Lieutenant Sinclair "Skip" Mills.

The remaining ninety-four LACs raced away towards home.

[Scene Break]

It was very quiet in the command center of System Defense Headquarters. Quieter than André Courtaine had ever heard it. Everyone was just staring at the tactical display. A display which now held only three blue icons. The massive formation of enemy attack craft was receding quickly. They had only managed to kill two of them before they drew out of range – two! Courtaine was stunned at how quickly it had all happened. Citizen Admiral Virginia Ezram was standing like a statue with clenched fists, staring at the display like everyone else. Finally, she shook herself and took a deep breath. The faint sound seemed to break the spell that was holding everyone frozen.

"What…what happens now?" stuttered Courtaine. "Will they be back?"

Ezram turned to face him and shrugged. "I doubt it. They've gotten what they came for. They could probably take out the remaining forts if they wanted to, but they can't hold this planet so what's the point? They've already destroyed everything worth destroying, they may as well go on to something else."

Courtaine hoped –prayed—she was right. He sighed and looked around the room. Most of the people were returning to their jobs, but there was still hardly a sound. He looked to find Citizen General Calvin Hartz and spotted him a dozen meters away. Courtaine expected him to be fuming and ready to scream insults into the Admiral's face. Instead, the man was just standing there, staring at the defeated officer. A small, twisted grin was slowly growing on his face.

Courtaine shuddered. He had liked Virginia Ezram.

_I wonder who the next commander will be?_

**Chapter Seventeen**

**T**he trip back to _Hydra_ took almost seven hours. The Task Force had been headed one way, and the LACs in almost exactly the opposite direction. By the time that huge, familiar, white shape was filling their view port, the crew of _Black Magic_ was completely exhausted. The adrenaline high of the attack had worn off, but they were all too excited to sleep. They had hardly slept at all during the long hours of waiting. Drugs had kept them alert, but those were wearing off. Most of them had been awake for close to sixty hours.

But they still found the energy to rehash the battle again and again. Each giving his or her impression of what had happened. It really began to sink in. They had done something extraordinary. It had been Admiral Stokes' plan, and the rest of the Task Force had made it possible – _but they were the ones who had done it!_

There was a very unmilitary – and unsafe—amount of radio chatter between the LACs on the trip home, but Commander Lowell did not stop them. The morale of the wing was at new heights and he did not want to put a damper on it.

Helen sat in her command chair most of the time, thinking about the battle and listening to the excited talk of her crew. That their talk was interspersed with yawns, and her own fatigue, made it seem slightly surreal. But as the time passed, she grew depressed.

_Damn! Two LACs lost – two- percent casualties – and one of them had to be Skip! What are the odds of that?_

She was too tired to see the irony. A few years ago, by her own admission, she would have destroyed the entire universe if she could be assured of killing all the Peeps, too. She had just helped kill at least twenty thousand Peeps, maybe a lot more, and she was agonizing over the twenty men and woman they had lost to do it. She should have been amazed at the change in herself, but her brain was too muddled.

_If we had just had a chance to train with my new formation, it would have been perfect in a situation like that! Once we get back I'm going to…_

"Docking tractor engaged, standing by on thrusters, Skipper," said Eric Whelan, startling Helen out of her funk. She looked up to see the huge maw of the hanger bay growing in front of them.

"Very well, steady as she goes, Mr. Whelan."

"Man! I am going to sleep for a week!" exclaimed Karl Mondsheim.

"I thought you said you were going to get drunk for a week," said Penny Harding.

"Sleep first! Then booze! And if you'd like to throw in a little sex, Miss Penny, it would make the celebration complete!"

"In your dreams, Karl! The fatigue poisons are addling your brain!"

"Thirty meters, " said Whelan.

"Permission to shut down the reactor, Skipper?" Chief Kimmel's voice over her com startled Helen again.

"Uh, sure, Chief, go ahead."

_Wow, I am starting to lose it. Wonder what else I've forgotten to do?_

"You okay, Skipper?" asked a grinning Randy Huber. "You should have taken my advice and grabbed a nap while we were waiting."

"I don't recall you getting any sleep, Randy," countered Helen.

"The Exec can't ever sleep, Skipper. But it's my job to look out for my captain."

"Docking collar engaged. Thrusters shut down. We're home folks!" said Whelan.

About fifteen minutes later, the weary crew of _Black Magic_ stumbled out of their ship. There was a tumult of cheers and shouts echoing through the hanger bay gallery. The hanger crew for their LAC came swarming around them hooting and hollering, slapping backs and shaking hands. The other crews on either side were undergoing the same welcome.

"You fellas really clobbered them!" shouted one of their technicians.

"What's it like to be a hero, Randy?" asked the crew chief.

"Hey, you guys didn't do so bad yourselves! What's it like being a dreadnought for thirty hours?" answered Randy, bringing a gale of laughter.

Helen slowly made her way through the throng. Many people congratulated her, but they knew her – and respected her- well enough not to press themselves too closely. Suddenly she stopped. Randy Huber was right next to her and saw the look on her face.

"What's wrong, Skipper?"

Helen did not answer. She started walking purposefully down the gallery. Randy trotted to catch up and then paced her; a worried expression creased his forehead.

They passed several of the other hanger bays. A celebration was going on at each one of them as the hanger crews welcomed back the LAC jockeys.

At each of the bays except one.

Helen reached the bay for LAC HYS-03-02.

It was empty.

A dozen men and women stood looking at it. They glanced up and down the gallery at the other excited people. Then they looked back at the empty bay. Some of them looked down and chewed on their lips. One was carrying a carton of beer containers. He dropped it on the deck and turned away.

Helen and Randy stood and watched them for a moment.

The crew was about to leave when they caught sight of them. Helen walked forward and they slowly grouped around her.

"I'm sorry," she said. "They did a good job. They did their duty. Sometimes everyone doesn't come back. I don't know why it was them who didn't, but you can be proud of them and proud of yourselves. I'm sorry."

Most of them were young, almost as young as Helen. They had not seen death yet the way she had. Most had tears on their faces, but a few forced smiles and nodded. The crew chief came up to Helen and shook hands.

"Thanks, Lieutenant. Thanks for talking with us."

Then they turned and walked slowly away.

"I guess I really have seen the elephant now," whispered Huber.

[Scene Break]

_Dear Aunt Sylvie,_

_ I'm not sure why I'm writing this letter now. We're two hundred light years from the nearest friendly base, and I don't see it getting delivered anytime soon. Even Alby can't help out with that!_

_ Three days ago we went into combat. It was an attack on a heavily defended Peep world. We did pretty well and I suppose it can be chalked up as a "great victory". I'm not sure how I feel about it. I want to write down my thoughts while they are still fresh. I really wish I could talk to you._

_ Our casualties were very light, but one of the two LACs destroyed belonged to my squadron. It was my second in command; a man named Skip Mills. He was a good officer and I think we might have become good friends in time. His crew were all good people, too._

_ How do you deal with it when you lose people under your command? I lost twelve of the midshipmen when _Relentless_ was wrecked, but that was not quite the same, somehow. I was responsible for them, yes, but they were all under someone else's command when they died. This time, they were under my command. Even though the circumstances did not call for me to issue any real orders during the battle, I still feel responsible. I can't help but feel that if I had been quicker or smarter or better somehow, they might still be alive._

_ The ship and the whole Task Force have been celebrating our victory, but I have not felt like celebrating. We are in hyper, heading for another target. I have been depressed and I'm afraid it might hurt my performance in the next battle._

_ How did you deal with it, Aunt Sylvie? I can remember dozens of war stories you told me when I was little, but I don't remember a single time you said anything about your casualties. I know you must have taken some. Did it hurt the way I am hurting now? It must have._

_ I'm trying not to hate the Peeps for killing Skip. I know you would not want me to, but it is hard. God knows we killed a lot of them two days ago. I'm sure plenty of Peeps hate me now even though they don't know me any more than I know the Peep who launched the missile that killed Skip. It does make me angry though._

_ I miss you, Aunt Sylvie. I feel very strange. I am such a long way from home._

Helen looked at what she had written and sighed. She knew she would never actually send this letter to Sylvia Thayer, but it had felt good to write it all down. It was almost like talking to her.

Her door buzzer buzzed.

Helen blanked the screen, got up and opened the hatch. Randy Huber was standing there.

"You ready, Skipper?" His usually smiling face was solemn.

"Just about, give me a second." Helen stepped back into her quarters and picked up her sword off her bunk. She fastened it to the hangers on her belt. A quick look in the mirror, a tug here, flick off a speck of dust there, put on her beret, and she was ready. She was wearing her mess-dress uniform, as was Randy Huber. She cut a striking figure in the black and gold. It made her look older than her eighteen standard years. She smoothed out the black armband that was fastened about her left sleeve and then turned and left the compartment.

She and Huber walked down the passageway to the lifts. Randy seemed especially edgy.

"You okay, Randy?"

"Yeah, I guess. I've never done anything like this before."

"I can't say I've done anything exactly like this, but we had a lot of ceremonial formations at the Academy. You must have at least done dress parades at OCS. Just pretend it's one of those."

"Okay, if you say so. It's just a damn shame."

The lift arrived and they took it down a half-dozen decks to the main boat bay. When the doors opened, Helen saw that there were several hundred people already there and more arriving. All of the officers were in mess-dress uniforms and the ratings were also wearing full dress. A platoon of marines were there, wearing their finest. Except for the marines, everyone was just milling around awkwardly.

Near one of the boarding tubes was a small container on a wheeled cart. A dozen meters away stood a table.

On the table were twenty dress uniform berets.

Helen walked over to near the table and then stood and waited. Randy Huber waited next to her. After a few minutes Captain Samuel Romney, commander of _Hydra, _his exec, Commander Deborah Behrens, and Commander Thaddeus Lowell, leader of the LAC wing arrived. The quiet conversations that had been going on ceased and everyone sorted themselves into a ragged formation facing the boarding tube.

"Ship's company, attention," ordered Behrens, quietly. Captain Romney stood before the assembly with a sad expression.

"At ease. We've come to say farewell to twenty of our comrades who gave their lives during our last operation. The Navy has a lot of traditions, and this one dates back to its very beginnings. This is not an easy thing to do. We might prefer to just turn our backs, walk away, and pretend these people never existed. But the Navy never forgets its own. Our comrades did their duty and now it is time for us to do ours."

Helen found her throat tightening up. What the Captain said was true. The Royal Navy always acknowledged the passing of its members. The exact ceremony varied from time to time, place to place, and circumstance to circumstance, but something was always done. Helen had still been in Sick Bay when the dead of _HMS Relentless_ had been remembered after her 'prentice cruise, but she knew it had happened.

In the type of war they were fighting now, all too frequently the ceremony paid honor to a ship that was lost with all hands. It might take place weeks or months after the ship was lost, and light years away from where the combat took place, but it always happened. The LAC carriers, in the short time they had been in service, had come up with their own ceremony. The carriers themselves rarely ever took damage or lost people on board. But there were many times when their LACs did not return.

"I need say nothing to you about the bravery or devotion of our fallen," continued the Captain. "You were all there, you know what they did and how they died. But we do acknowledge and honor that bravery and devotion. We will not forget it or them."

Romney stood aside and Commander Lowell came forward.

"The following personnel of the LAC wing of _HMS Hydra_ gave their lives in action, April 12, 1917 P.D." Lowell's voice was stiff and mechanical. _He's certainly gone through this before,_ thought Helen, _but never as the LAC commander._

"Lieutenant Sinclair Mills," said Lowell.

Helen stepped out from the ranks and walked over to the table. She picked up the first beret, and holding it in both hands, moved over to the small container on the cart. She carefully placed the beret inside. She stepped back, saluted, and then returned to the ranks. Her years as a battalion commander at the Academy had trained her to act with precision in front of a large, watching, audience, and she did not miss a beat.

"Ensign Pamela Weaver."

Now it was Randy Huber's turn. He was not quite as cool as Helen, but he did what had to be done.

Lowell called off the rest of the crew of LAC HYS-03-02. Various other people from the squadron and the hanger crew carried the caps of their friends to the waiting container. Then it was the turn of the crew of the other LAC. Helen did not know them personally, but that made no difference. They were her comrades and the tightness in her throat was still there.

Finally, the last beret was placed inside the container and it was closed and sealed.

Captain Romney stepped forward again.

"Chief Hodgsen has asked to say a few words."

A woman came forward in the uniform of a chief petty officer. She had a multi-colored cloth draped around her neck. The Royal Navy had no official chaplains, and the Star Kingdom had no official state religion, but that did not mean that no religion existed. Aboard ships there were usually a number of self-appointed chaplains to minister to the crews' spiritual needs. They were sometimes officially ordained in some church, but just as often they were not. The crew did not mind.

"Comrades, shipmates, friends," began the woman. Her voice was clear and crisp and it carried easily to the assembled people. "We are here to say a final farewell to our brothers and sisters. These were our friends. We lived with them, worked with them, fought next to them. Many of you were close by when they died. All of us have willingly chosen to risk that same death that has claimed our comrades. Yet we cannot help but ask why our friends have died and we have not? It is the nature of our species to ask why.

"I cannot answer that question, my friends. It is in the hands of the Maker of the Universe. Perhaps someday it will be revealed to us- and perhaps not. Someday we may be called on to make the same sacrifice as our comrades, perhaps then we will know. For now, all we can do is carry on with our duty. Face the risks that our comrades did with open eyes and stout hearts. And remember them.

"I pray that their spirits be guided to whatever home the Creator has prepared for them, and that their memories ever remain bright in our hearts, Amen."

"Amen," murmured Helen and the hundreds of others around her.

"Ship's company, attention!" ordered Commander Behrens.

"Shoulder - Arms!" Helen drew her sword and placed the blade against her right shoulder. Two hanger technicians came forward and rolled the cart to the mouth of the boarding tube. They carefully pushed the container with the berets across the red warning line into the zero gravity of the boarding tube. They steadied it with their hands until it was floating in the center of the tube. Then they stepped back, rolled the cart out of the way and sealed the tube.

"Present – Arms!"

Helen bought her sword up until the hilt was a few centimeters in front of her face and then slowly lowered the point. All of the other officers did likewise. The ratings saluted with their hands. The platoon of marines brought their pulser rifles in front of them with an audible slap of gloved hands against metal.

Captain Romney nodded to the two technicians. They went to the control panel next to the boarding tube. There was a sharp warning tone as they told the controls to do something they were not normally supposed to do. A moment later the tone cut off.

Helen could see the far end of the tube through the large armorplast viewport. There was a gust of vapor and ice crystals as the outer door of the tube suddenly opened to vacuum. The container drifted out of the tube, propelled by the sudden motion of the air surrounding it. It tumbled slowly across the boat bay and out the huge hanger doors. The black nothingness of hyperspace waited beyond. Eventually it was lost to sight.

"Shoulder—Arms!"

"Order –Arms!"

"Ship's company – Dis-missed!"

Helen put her sword back in its scabbard. The people in the bay began heading for the lifts. The marines marched off in formation.

Helen saw the crowd at the lifts and walked over to the viewport instead. Randy Huber walked with her. The hanger doors were slowly closing. She wondered what would happen to the container. They were in hyperspace, in a rift between grav waves. In theory, it could drift out there forever, but it would probably encounter a grav wave or some turbulence eventually and be destroyed. Had there been any bodies, they would not have been treated this way unless the deceased had specifically requested it. Usually, they would be returned home to their families. But usually, there were no bodies…

_It's only a box full of hats. Why do I feel this way?_

She became aware of Randy Huber at her side. He was staring at the closed hanger doors, just as she was.

"Randy?"

"Yes, Skipper?"

"We are going to begin training sims on that new formation tomorrow."

"Okay. Did you get Adams' approval?"

"I'll get it, but frankly I don't give a damn if he approves or not."

**Chapter Eighteen**

**S**omeone was jumping up and down inside Andreanne Payne's head. Someone else was kicking her in the stomach. It did not feel good at all. A mass of colored lights were swirling in front of her eyes, and she was definitely going to be sick…

"All stations report," said a voice that sounded vaguely familiar except for being slightly slurred and with a half-groan thrown in.

She needed to do something. She could remember that now. But what? The pounding in her head was letting up, and maybe she would be able to hold on to her lunch after all. The lights in front of her had decreased in number and they were slowing down.

She could hear other voices saying things and they even made a bit of sense. The lights were coming to rest and after a moment she recognized it as the display of her helm station aboard _GNS Alliance_.

_I have to do something, but what? Oh yes, answer the Captain!_

"Helm. Everything green here, sir."

_Including my face, I'll bet. Ooh, I should not have eaten so much!_

But after a few more seconds, the nausea was gone, her head was clear and it was hard to believe that a few moments earlier anything had even been wrong.

_Sweet Tester, I hate it when we do that!_

The ship had just made a "crash translation" from hyperspace to N-Space. It was a maneuver that was hard on equipment and hard on people. But it allowed them to cross the Alpha Wall and still hang on to a respectable N-space velocity. Which might come in very handy if there were any enemy ships around.

Not that there were likely to be, if the last four weeks were any measure.

"Anything, Mr. Szytko?" asked the Captain.

"Nothing definite, sir," answered the Sensor Officer. "Energy and faint impeller readings close to the inhabited planet. There are definitely some orbital installations and a lot of small craft, but nothing I can identify as a ship."

An inaudible, but tangible, sigh of disappointment seemed to fill the bridge. It had been four weeks since they left their base. This was the fourth system they had "attacked" and they had still not fired a single shot.

Two of the other systems had only very sketchy industrial bases. No weapons or shipbuilding capability at all. The climates had been pretty awful and the populations were small. Neither one had a Peep garrison and the second planet had not even been aware that they were part of the Peep empire. They had greeted the news that they had been liberated with a shrug of the shoulders and an "Okay, if you say so," and then went about their business. The Task Group had deployed their surveillance platforms and moved on.

The third system was not even inhabited. The records indicated that there had been a colony there about a hundred T-years earlier, but there were only a few abandoned buildings left now. Whether the colonists had given up on trying to turn their miserable world into a paradise or they had met with some disaster was unknown, and there was no time to investigate.

Now, they were hitting a fourth system – "Boetia". It seemed to be more industrialized than the earlier ones, but the young people crewing _Alliance_ were itching for some action. They had spent the weeks in hyperspace running simulations with the whole task group and each time they entered a system they had done so on full alert with battle stations manned.

Anny looked at the tactical display. They had come out of hyper spread in a huge arc that would allow them to cover the maximum volume of space and hopefully bag any ships they might find. They were converging on the fourth planet, with _Alliance_ near one end of the arc and _Redemption_ near the other. The smaller ships were strung out in between.

"Our N-space velocity is fourteen thousand eight hundred kilometers per second, sir," reported Anny. "Course is oh-four-eight, by two-nine."

"Very well. Engineering, reconfigure to impeller drive."

"Aye, aye, sir."

In a few minutes the Warshawski sails had been furled and the impeller wedge was up. The ship was ready to maneuver.

"Signal from Flag on the grav-com, sir," announced, Lieutenant Vandergrift. "'Proceed according to plan.' That's all, sir."

"Distance from Boetia is forty-six million kilometers, sir. Our present course will bring us within eight million kilometers," said Lieutenant Henning.

"Anything, Mr. Szytko?" asked the Captain again.

"Same as before, sir. Nothing new."

Twenty minutes passed and the arc was getting smaller as it closed in on the fourth planet. It looked like they were going to come up empty again…

"Contact!" exclaimed Lieutenant Francis Szytko. "An impeller source – correction, multiple impeller sources detected! They are all close to the planet, sir, headed outbound!" A cluster of red icons appeared on the tactical display.

"What have we got here, Lieutenant?" asked the Captain. Anny could hear the concern in his voice. The Task Group was in a formation that was ideal for catching a few ships trying to escape, but it was dangerously dispersed if they encountered a large group of enemy warships.

"Twenty…no, twenty-three impeller sources, sir! But only three of them read as military grade. All the rest appear to be merchant ships. All of them are accelerating at about two hundred gees. Their courses are diverging but they are generally cutting across our bow and down, about two-nine-two, by minus six-eight. Range to nearest is twenty-eight million kilometers."

"Looks like a convoy to me, sir, running for the hyper limit," said Commander Brock from the tactical station.

"So it would seem. It also looks like we hit the jackpot. Mister Henning, plot an intercept course towards the middle of that swarm – make your best guess as to where that is."

"Aye aye, sir." After a few moments of work he looked up. "Course plotted and on the board, sir."

"Very well, Helm come to course oh-oh-nine, by minus seven-seven. Ahead at four hundred-twenty gravities."

"Aye aye, sir," said Anny. Her agile fingers quickly typed in the instructions and a few moments later, _Alliance_ leapt after her quarry.

Anny looked at the tactical display. The enemy ships were trying to get outside of the hyper limit so they could escape into hyperspace. They could not run directly away from them because that would just take them deeper into the star's gravity well. With the speed advantage of the warships, they could never escape that way.

They did not have much chance even going the way they were. _Alliance_ and the other ships had a huge advantage in speed to begin with, and they were adding to it. But the question was how to stop all those ships short of just blowing them to bits.

"Message from flag, sir," said Lieutenant Vandergrift. "It reads: 'Put one across their bow, Chris.' Ur, that's all, sir." The Lieutenant was blushing slightly.

Anny glanced over her shoulder and caught the grin on her captain's face.

"Acknowledge, Mister Vandergrift. Commander Brock, prepare to roll a pod. Program the missiles to detonate directly in front of the largest warship."

"Aye aye, sir. Opening pod door one." A few moments passed. "Pod ready to roll on your order."

"You may proceed, Commander."

"Pod deployed and ready to fire, sir," said Brock after a few more moments.

_GNS Alliance_ represented a radical change in warship design. In addition to her normal broadside missile tubes and energy batteries, there was a hollow core inside her that held nearly five hundred missile pods. They could be jettisoned through six huge doors in the ship's stern. One of those pods had just been pushed out one of those doors and was now falling astern, being left behind as the superdreadnought continued to accelerate.

"Fire," said Captain Abiel Christopher.

"Pod fired… all missiles are running as expected. Time to detonation: seven minute, ten seconds," reported Brock.

"Very good."

The missiles the pods were carrying were as much a revolution as _Alliance _herself. They were the multi-stage Very Long Range Missiles that Manticore had developed several years earlier. By combining a three-stage multiple engine design, the missiles had unprecedented range. A normal missile might have an extreme range of six or seven million kilometers. The VLRMs had a powered range of sixty-five million kilometers, or more, depending on how the stages were programmed to behave. The Peeps were in for a rude awakening if they thought they were outside _Alliance's_ missile range.

"Captain, we are getting some better reading on those ships now," reported Lieutenant Szytko. "The largest warship looks like a _Mars_ class heavy cruiser. There is also a light cruiser, class still not determined, and a _City_ class destroyer. The merchantmen are a variety of tonnages, but all are pretty large, sir."

"Hmm, Boetia was listed as primarily an agricultural planet. This might be a food convoy for Haven, itself," said Christopher.

"They'll be tightening their belts in New Paris after this!" exclaimed Commander Brock with a grin.

"Fairly light escort for an important convoy like this, though," mused the Captain.

"I guess they're getting stretched pretty thin, sir," said Brock.

Anny watched the display as the icon representing their missiles overtook them and sped on their way toward the target. It did not seem quite fair, somehow. The enemy could not hope to even shoot back under these circumstances. She hoped they would have the sense to surrender. The seven minutes passed very slowly.

About a minute before the scheduled detonation, Lieutenant Vandergrift announced an incoming message.

"Radio signal from the flagship, sir. It's in the clear and directed at the Peeps. It instructs them to strike their wedges and surrender. It warns them that the next shots will be in earnest."

"Very well," said Captain Christopher. "Tactical, be ready for another launch, in case they don't take the Admiral's word seriously."

"Aye aye, sir."

The clock wound down and the icon for their missiles vanished from the screen. Out in space, the warheads had exploded, doing no damage, but clearly showing the Peeps they were in range.

All eyes were on the tactical display, looking to see if the enemy would indeed strike their impeller wedges and give up. A minute passed and then another. It would probably take them a while to make the decision and pass instructions… But the time continued to tick away and the enemy ships were still accelerating toward the hyper limit.

"Damn fools," whispered the Captain.

"Grav-com signal from Flag, sir," said Vandergrift. "'Take out the _Mars_.' That's all, sir." The faster-than-light grav-com system gave the Alliance vessels a huge advantage in coordinating their activities over distances like this, but the messages had to be kept short.

Captain Christopher sighed. "All right, what do you think, Mike? Forty pods? Those _Mars_ class are big, tough customers."

"Forty should do it, sir," said Commander Brock quietly. His earlier enthusiasm had dampened.

"Roll pods," commanded the Captain. His ship was about to fire its first real shots in anger, but there was no satisfaction in his voice. Anny felt the same way. This was just shooting fish in a barrel. Killing the enemy in battle was one thing, but this was scarcely better than murder.

It took a little over a minute to deploy the pods. When they had finished, Commander Brock looked up from his display. "Pods deployed, targeting instructions complete. We're ready to fire, sir."

Captain Christopher shook his head.

"Fire."

Four hundred missiles streaked toward their target.

"Target has increased acceleration, sir," reported Lieutenant Szytko. "She's pushing five hundred gees. They must be redlining the impellers."

"Their ECM and decoys are on-line, too. Our missiles are compensating, Captain," said Commander Brock.

"Damn," said Christopher. "There's probably a Peoples' Commissioner over there with a gun to the head of the captain. If it wasn't for that, I'd just try crippling him."

"That's probably what the Admiral was thinking when he ordered you to destroy him, sir," said Brock. He placed a slight emphasis on the last part of his statement. Christopher looked over at his first officer and nodded.

This time the missiles seemed to reach their target all too quickly. The enemy put up as good a defense as he could, but there were just too many missiles, and they were the best the Alliance had. The Peep's ECM fooled a few of the missiles, and his counter missiles destroyed some more. Point defense cluster killed a dozen or so, but the remainder were more than enough to do the job. More than one person on _Alliance's _bridge bowed their heads slightly as the Peep's icon vanished from the tactical display.

"Target destroyed," announced Commander Brock quietly.

"Another message from the Flagship for the Peeps, sir," said Vandergrift. "Same as before, but it says that if they do not comply, the entire task group will open fire and every enemy ship will be targeted."

Anny sat tensely in her chair. The _Redemption_ was the only other ship in the task group that had the VLRMs, so part of the message was a bluff, but the two superdreadnoughts had more than enough firepower to wipe out the entire enemy convoy. She said a silent prayer that whoever was in charge over there would see the hopelessness of the situation and surrender.

Several minutes passed and Anny was afraid she was soon going to witness the slaughter of twenty-two helpless ships. Suddenly, Lieutenant Frank Szytko exclaimed:

"One of them has struck its wedge! There's another! Two more! They're surrendering, sir!"

Anny held her breath as the icons on the tactical display changed from the triangle shape of a ship under power, to a square showing a ship that was coasting. One by one, or two by two, they changed. She half expected the two remaining warships to keep running, but after a minute, they had struck their wedges, too. She let out her breath and sighed.

"Thank the Tester," she whispered.

"Amen to that, Anny," said Captain Christopher.

"Message from Flag to the task group, sir," said Lieutenant Vandergrift. "It's instructions for boarding the enemy ships. We are instructed to board the remaining cruiser and three of the merchantmen."

"Excellent. Mister Henning, plot a course to rendezvous with that cruiser. Helm, execute as soon as you have that course."

"Aye, aye, sir," answered Anny and Henning in unison.

Captain Christopher touched a button on his command console. "Colonel Wolfe, I'm going to need five of your pinnaces for boarding duty. One for each of three merchant ships and two for an enemy cruiser. I don't expect any trouble on the merchies, but I want full precautions taken with that cruiser. I'll be sending a few officers along with the boarding parties. We'll be launching you in about an hour."

"Yes, Captain, we'll be ready," came the voice of the commander of _Alliance's_ marine detachment.

"Commander Brock, prepare the cutter for Search and Rescue. There may have been some survivors from that _Mars_. If there are, we are going to find them."

"Aye aye, sir," said Brock with a grim smile. The chances were slim, but Anny was glad they were going to make the effort.

After Anny had put the ship on the rendezvous course that Lieutenant Henning had given her, she sat and watched the tactical display. The ships of the task group were changing course and decelerating to rendezvous with their prizes. Their destroyers would get there first, but the DDs had small marine contingents and would not attempt to board. They would wait for the arrival of the heavier ships.

"Commander Brock," said the Captain after a few minutes. "We are going to need five officers to accompany the boarding parties and take the surrender of those ships."

"Yes, sir. Did you have anyone in mind, or do you want me to just pick them?"

The Captain did not answer right away and Anny suddenly felt a prickling sensation on the back of her neck. She swiveled her seat slightly and glanced at her captain out of the corner of her eye. He seemed to be smiling…

"Miss Payne, unless I'm mistaken, you have more experience in boarding actions than anyone else on this ship – well, among the naval officers, anyway. I'd like you to go and secure that cruiser for us."

"S-sir?"

"It's a simple enough order, Lieutenant. You will go on one of the Marine's pinnaces and secure the enemy ship's bridge and accept the surrender of its captain. For form's sake I suppose we should put Mister McDermott on the other pinnace. He can secure the engineering department. I assume you are watching, Lieutenant McDermott. Any problem with that?"

A moment later Patric's voice came over the com: "Uh, no, sir. No problem at all."

"Good! Summon your watch replacements and then get down to the boat bay. Don't worry, the marines know what to do."

"Aye aye, sir," said Anny, slightly dazed.

[Scene Break]

"Can you believe this?" asked Anny.

"Not really," said Patric. "I'm just glad I'm going with you this time."

"Well, I think we're in a bit better shape than the last time I had to do this," said Anny, gesturing to the activity going on around them. The boat bay was filled with marines. Some were in regular combat armor and others in the far more imposing power armor. All were heavily armed and there were hundreds of them. The "last time" it had been just Anny and Helen and two dozen marines with small arms.

A marine officer, accompanied by an NCO, walked up to Anny and saluted. "Lieutenant? I'm Company Commander Jeremiah Hornbaker; this is Sergeant Tom Prince. I'll be commanding the marines assigned to secure the cruiser."

"Pleased to meet you, Major Hornbaker," replied Anny, returning his salute. She held out her hand and he took it. "I look forward to working with you."

"This is Lieutenant McDermott, he will be in the second pinnace," said Anny, gesturing to Patric. Patric was taller than Hornbaker, even without armor. The two shook hands.

"Nice to meet you, Major," said Patric.

Anny could see that the rank of "captain" was clearly painted on the officer's armor, but they were all playing a little game about his rank. The Navy insisted that there could only be one "Captain" aboard a warship and that was the skipper. The Navy handled that by addressing any other officer with that same rank who happened to be aboard as one rank higher: "major" for marines, or "commodore" for Navy personnel. The marines had responded to what they considered Navy stuffiness by calling their captains "company commander". It actually made a bit more sense than the Navy method since a large ship like the _Alliance_ would end up swarming with "majors".

"I'm afraid I've never done anything exactly like this before," said Anny. "So please feel free to correct me if I do something wrong."

"Lieutenant Payne, it will be an honor working with you," smiled Hornbaker. "We're just coming along to make sure the Peeps stay polite. I'm assigning the sergeant, here, and a squad as your escort. As I understand it, you will be proceeding to the bridge to accept the Peeps' surrender. My men will be securing the rest of the ship at the same time."

"That sounds fine, Major," said Anny, smiling in turn. Her little brother was named Jeremiah and there was something almost familiar about the major's smile. She found herself liking the man.

"If you'd care to arm yourselves, we can get aboard. We're scheduled to launch in about twenty minutes." The marine gestured to the small arms locker and they walked over to it.

"I understand you are an expert with the plasma carbine, Lieutenant. Feel free if you like," said Hornbaker.

Anny smiled and looked at the rows of racked weapons. She reached out and touched one of the carbines and then shook her head.

"I don't think I'll be needing one of those this time. A pistol should do fine." She picked up a belt and holster and fastened it around her waist. Then she selected a standard pulser pistol. She checked the power cell, made sure the safety was on, inserted a clip and put the pistol in the holster and secured the flap. Patric did likewise.

"All right, let's get aboard," said Major Hornbaker.

[Scene Break]

Forty minutes later the two heavy assault pinnaces were drawing alongside the Peep cruiser. It was a tense moment. If the Peeps decided to renege on their surrender they could have blown both pinnaces to bits in an instant. Of course, they, themselves, would have died a few moments later, but you could never be sure there would not be a few fanatics aboard these ships.

The ship itself, which Lieutenant Szytko had identified as a light cruiser was actually an old heavy cruiser of the _Charles Martel_ class. The letters on her bow identified her as the _PNS Coeur de Lion_. She was completely undamaged and Anny marveled at how different she looked from the wreck that _PNS Sword_ had been. Except for the swarms of marines around her – and the butterflies in her stomach – she might have been approaching any other Alliance vessel on a routine docking. The doors to the ship's boat bay were standing open and Anny could see tiny figures through the viewports. It was hard to believe they were Peeps.

She was sitting up on the command deck of the pinnace and Major Hornbaker was coordinating the operations from there. She wished Patric was with her, but he was in the other pinnace. Hornbaker was on the com talking with the Peep officer in charge of the boat bay. Now he switched to the commander of the marines in that other pinnace.

"Alpha-Mike-One to Alpha-Mike-Two. Are you ready to proceed?"

"Affirmative, Alpha-Mike-One, we're good to go."

"All right, Charlie, the Peeps say we can dock. Go on in, we'll give you cover from here."

Anny was slightly surprised and more than a little alarmed that Patric's shuttle was going in first.

"We're not going in?" she asked.

"Not yet, ma'am. The other pinnace will secure the boat bay and then we go in. We'll provide cover if necessary, don't worry." The marine captain seemed completely confident. Anny hoped it was justified.

The M130 "_Stormer"_ Heavy Assault Pinnace she was in was large and heavily armed. It carried a variety of lasers and missiles in addition to the marines. While the weapons were mere popguns compared to a ship's weaponry, they were more than adequate to blow a boat bay to pieces if they were fired through the open hanger doors. She knew that they also carried one special missile with a nuclear warhead that could be used if the situation got totally out of hand. None of which would help Patric in the slightest if he was there in the boat bay.

She looked on anxiously as the second pinnace slowly edged into the bay. It was hardly all the way in when the large doors along its sides swung open and a torrent of marines came swarming out. They were in zero-G, but they expertly propelled themselves to various points around the bay and then clicked on with the magnets in the soles of their boots. Those with heavy weapons aimed them at the armorplast viewports. Others moved into airlocks and the boarding tubes which could also double as airlocks. Anny did not see anyone that looked like Patric, although the marines in the power armor were certainly big enough. She hoped he would have the sense to stay in the pinnace.

Within a minute, she could see marines through some of the viewports. They were inside and as far as she could tell, there had been no fighting. There was a constant chatter over the com, but the marines seemed to have their own language, and she could follow very little of it. After about five more minutes, the commander of the other pinnace's marines was calling Hornbaker.

"All clear, Jerry. The boat bay is secure. No resistance."

"Acknowledged. Well done. Stand by, we're coming in."

Anny breathed a little easier. If the Peeps had any tricks up their sleeves, they probably would have used them before they let a hundred and fifty heavily armed marines aboard their ship. Her pinnace was now moving into the boat bay. Instead of disgorging its passengers as the first one had done, they made a normal landing and hooked up to a boarding tube. It took several minutes and Major Hornbaker insisted that most of his marines disembark first, but eventually he led her to the airlock. Sergeant Prince and eight edgy looking troopers flanked her.

Anny floated down the boarding tube behind a gaggle of marines. She grabbed the bar at the end and swung herself into the normal gravity of the boat bay gallery. There were marines everywhere. She stood next to Major Hornbaker and tried to take it all in. A dozen Peeps were being held in a group to one side. She looked around and finally spotted Patric. He saw her at the same instant and came over to her.

"Quite a show, isn't it?" he asked with a grin.

Before Anny could respond she saw that another marine officer was walking her way with a Peep commander walking slightly ahead of him. The officer saluted Hornbaker.

"Captain, this is Commander Duval. He's the executive officer of the ship. He says he's here to take you up to the bridge to accept his captain's surrender."

"Well, Commander," said Hornbaker. "Lieutenant Payne here will be accepting the surrender. Meanwhile I want all of your enlisted personnel to assemble in the mess hall and all of the officers in the wardroom."

"That is already being done, Captain," said the man, stiffly. "There is a skeleton watch in engineering and a few people left on the bridge, but everyone else has been instructed to go where you've asked." His eyes drifted over to Anny and he seemed a bit surprised.

"All right," said Hornbaker. "Lieutenant McDermott, you'll be heading down to engineering to take charge there. The rest of us will accompany the Commander up to the bridge."

They headed for the lifts at the end of the gallery. She exchanged a small wave with Patric who started off in the opposite direction. Anny's escort closed around her and they kept a watchful eye on the Peep officer. Anny held back a grin. She had become friends with a lot of the marines that stood watch outside "The Nunnery" back on _Alliance_, and she had gathered from some of their conversation that they considered her a sort of honorary jarhead. The fact that she had led marines into combat – even though they were Manticoran marines – seemed to make her something a cut above ordinary naval officers in the eyes of the marines. And of course, she _was_ Anny Payne.

As they got into the lift, her gaze shifted to the Peep officer and her internal grin faded. He was keeping his eyes fixed straight ahead, but she could see the strain he was under. She suddenly felt a keen pity for the man. She could scarcely imagine what it must be like to have to surrender your ship to the enemy. Fear, shame, anguish, is that what he was feeling? Anny's idol, Honor Harrington, had gone through this same ordeal. What had it been like for her? Of course, Lady Harrington had gone down fighting and only surrendered to save her people when the situation became hopeless. The Peeps' situation was just as hopeless even though their ship had suffered no damage. Did Duval wish they had fought? Anny felt an urge to say something to him. Try and ease his pain. But she realized nothing she could say could make him feel any better and it would probably do just the opposite.

The lift stopped and the doors opened. The marines fanned out down the passageway, alert for any trouble. The bridge was only a few meters away. Anny, Hornbaker, and Duval entered behind a half-dozen troopers. There were three Peep officers on the bridge. One was seated at the helm station, another was at communications, and the ship's captain was standing to one side with her back to them. A chill went down Anny's spine as she realized the woman was standing in front of the ship's builder's plaque.

The captain turned as Anny approached. She felt incredibly self-conscious as she stopped a few paces away and saluted.

"Captain? I'm Lieutenant Andreanne Payne of the _GNS Alliance_. I'm here on behalf of my captain and Admiral Newsum to accept the surrender of your vessel."

The Peep returned her salute, but her expression was one of surprise.

"Uh, yes, Lieutenant, of course. I did not realize there were women in Grayson service. But I see you are from Manticore," she said looking at the volunteer patch on the shoulder of Anny's skinsuit, "even though you don't sound like a Manticoran."

Anny was surprised in turn. This was not exactly the reply she had been expecting. The woman had not even introduced herself, but she could see the name "Kellerman" on the front of her skinsuit.

"Well, it's a bit complicated, ma'am, but I am from Grayson."

"I see, well perhaps you'll have the opportunity to tell me the story later on, I'm sure it's an interesting one."

Anny looked at the woman's face and suddenly realized what was going on. The Peep captain did not want to say the words she knew she had to say! She was trying to put it off. Not because she had some trick up her sleeve, but just because it was so painful. There were three hundred enemy marines on her ship, she was under the guns of a force a hundred times her strength, but until she actually said the words, it was still her ship! And once she said the words, it would never be hers again. Anny felt a sudden embarrassment. She felt guilty to be forcing such pain on this stranger. But it had to be done…

"Perhaps, ma'am, but I have my orders to carry out."

The woman's face fell but then she nodded.

"Of course." She took a deep breath. "Very well, Lieutenant, I surrender my ship to you. In accordance with interstellar conventions, all militarily sensitive software and computer files have been erased, but all normal operating software is intact. I will expect that my crew be properly treated and cared for under the provisions of those same conventions."

"Certainly, Captain. Now if you would…" Anny stopped in mid sentence. The Peep captain had turned her head slightly and Anny could see an ugly cut on the side of her head and a large bruise near her eye.

"Have you been injured, Captain? I can summon a medic, or have you taken to the sick bay."

The woman smiled a grim smile. "It's nothing, Lieutenant. I had a … disagreement with the People's Commissioner over whether we should surrender or not. He's currently in the brig. I'd suggest you handle him with care, he can be somewhat…explosive.

"I see, Captain," said Anny. "Well, if you would accompany these marines, they will take you down to the wardroom. You'll stay there until transportation can be arranged."

Captain Kellerman nodded and walked over towards the waiting marines. Her two other officers joined her and Commander Duval and in a moment, they were gone. Anny breathed a small sigh of relief.

She walked slowly around the bridge, checking the various stations. As Kellerman had indicated, the military software had been purged. The tactical and electronic warfare stations were dead. The helm was operational, as were communications and most of the engineering functions. Anny activated her com.

"Lieutenant McDermott, report your status, please."

"McDermott here," came back Patric's voice immediately. "I'm in the main engineering control. Everything is secure here. The Peep personnel have been removed. I've shut down all power to the weapons systems, the sidewalls and the impellers. I'm draining the capacitors for the weapons, but that is going to take a while. How are things up there?"

"Fine, Patric, the bridge is secure. I'll check back with you after I report to the Captain."

"Right."

Anny looked up as Major Hornbaker approached.

"Ma'am, I've got my people all over the ship now. It looks like most of the Peeps are accounted for. We'll have to do a thorough sweep later on, but everything looks good for now. I've got men stationed in all the primary weapons batteries. I think we've pulled her teeth, Lieutenant."

"Thank, you, Major."

Anny walked over to the communications console and typed in a few commands. It was remarkably similar to what they had on Alliance ships.

"Lieutenant Payne to _Alliance_, come in please."

"_Alliance_ here, Lieutenant, go ahead." Anny recognized Lieutenant Vandergrift's voice and she smiled.

"Put me through to the Captain." Only a moment later, her captain was on the circuit.

"Christopher, here. What's the situation, Lieutenant?"

"No problems at all, sir. The main systems have been shut down, all weapons have been secured, and the crew is under guard."

She took a deep breath.

"The ship is ours."

**Chapter Nineteen**

"**S**ounds pretty exciting, Anny," said Christine Tropio.

"Well, the marines did all the work. I just followed along. And the Peeps didn't make any trouble," said Anny. "It really wasn't that big a deal."

Anny was sitting in her quarters with Chris Tropio and two of the other women from "The Nunnery". She had gotten back from the Peep cruiser the day before, but this was the first time the others had been able to hear the whole story. They did not seem to be buying Anny's attempt to downplay the incident.

"Not a big deal?" said Angela Harcourt skeptically. "Taking control of an enemy cruiser isn't a big deal. Just what _is_ your idea of a big deal, Anny?"

"Hey, Angie, you forget that this is old hat to Anny," said Chris with a grin. "Capturing enemy cruisers is a standard part of the Academy curriculum nowadays, or haven't you heard?"

The other women laughed and Anny blushed.

"That's right, how could we forget?" exclaimed Nancy Gibson. "Chalk up another one for Anny Payne!"

"C'mon, girls, give me a break will you? I didn't ask for that duty!" Anny was blushing even more deeply. She knew her friends were just teasing, but it was starting to make her uncomfortable.

"Besides," she continued, "you've been on more of those Peep ships than I have, Chris."

Lieutenant Commander Chris Tropio laughed. "Not quite the same thing, Anny! I've just been running checks on their environmental systems. All the Peeps are long gone – except for the two freighters they are converting to hold all of them, of course, but those are crawling with marines, too."

"That was quite a haul we made," said Gibson. "It's a damn shame we're not still in RMN uniforms, Twenty-two ships! We'd be set for life!"

"What do you mean?" asked Anny. The other three stared at her.

"Prize money, M'dear! Prize money!" said Tropio. "Of course split among this whole task group, it wouldn't exactly make us rich, but it would be a nice nest egg, that's for sure."

"But, I thought the prize money system was discontinued years ago," said Anny, who was a bit confused.

"Ah! So they would like you foreign types to think!" said Harcourt with a devilish grin.

"I don't understand."

"Didn't you ever wonder about that 'bonus pay' clause in the regulations?" asked Tropio.

"Well, not really."

"You should have. That's where the prize money is hiding. It's not exactly a secret; I'm surprised you haven't heard anyone here grousing about it." Anny just shook her head and looked blank. She had no idea what the others were talking about.

"You know that before the war, the Royal Navy had always paid prize money to the crews who captured a ship, right?" explained Tropio. Anny nodded her head. "Well, that worked fine until Manticore became part of a big alliance. Most of the other navies had never paid prize money and they did not want to start what they considered a bad system. That posed a problem for mixed squadrons. It would have caused the worst sort of bad feelings among the allied crews if the Manties got paid prize money and they did not for ships they had all helped capture."

"I can understand that," said Anny. "I thought that's why they discontinued the system."

"Well, they did and they didn't," said Tropio with a grin. "Officially, it's gone, but that 'bonus pay' is how they get around it. The regulations just say that bonuses can be paid for 'exemplary service', but you'll find that almost always means being involved in the capture of an enemy ship. I guess the flag officers don't qualify anymore, but most of them don't really need it anyway."

"Yeah," said Gibson. "Their Lordships have enough money already. It's us working stiffs that could use the extra – not that very many ships get taken intact in this war anymore."

"Well, I'm not counting on prize money for my old age," said Chris Tropio. "I've been salting away most of my pay with a good investment broker back on Manticore. There's not much to spend it on here as it is; I may as well prepare for when this war is over and we all end up on half pay."

Anny listened as the women compared their future financial plans. All three of them had some substantial investments. Anny felt completely out of her depth and said nothing. She started dreading when the inevitable question would come. The fact that she knew it was coming did not make it any easier.

"What about you, Anny?" asked Chris. "What are you doing with your princely salary?"

Anny blushed. "Well, nothing, really. It all goes to my father back on Manticore."

"Oh, he's handling the investments for you?"

"Uh, well, no. I don't really know what he's doing with it, I never asked."

Chris laughed. "Well, that's pretty trusting of you, even if it is your father. I'd sure want to know what my father was doing with my money!"

Anny felt really uncomfortable now. "Well, it's not really my money…"

"What do you mean? It's your salary, of course it's your money."

"Um, not under Grayson law, I'm afraid."

The three women stared at her with mouths hanging open.

"You're joking!" gasped Chris at last.

"No. To tell you the truth, I've never really even thought about it until now."

"Anny, you're a naval officer! You get paid a salary for the work you do and the risks you take! That's your money, I don't give a damn what Grayson law says!" Chris Tropio looked genuinely outraged.

"Good God, yes!" added Angie Harcourt. "With all that you've had to go through just to get here, I can't believe you're letting them do this to you!"

Anny just sat there as her friends berated her, both navies, Grayson, and eventually men in general. A part of her told her that they were right: she should have control of her own finances, but what she had said was also true: she had never really even thought about it before. Her family was very well off by Grayson standards. Growing up, she had never lacked for anything. She rarely even considered money. Right now, she had a credit chip with a virtually unlimited spending ceiling. If she wanted anything, she could just buy it. It did not matter to her that it was in her father's name. But how did she explain that to these non-Grayson women? They would not be impressed by the fact that her mothers actually handled all the day-to-day finances in the household. In fact, they would probably be even more outraged, because now that Anny _was_ thinking about it, she realized that her salary was probably being put towards her dowry. A dowry! Sweet Tester, they'd hit the overhead if they heard that!

"Anny, you've got to do something about this!" Tropio was saying.

"Damn right!" exclaimed Gibson. "Send a letter to the Paymaster's Department when we get back. Have your money sent to some bank on Manticore. They wouldn't dare say no."

"Yes! I can put you in touch with my investment manager," said Tropio. "They'll take good care of you."

Anny looked from face to face. How could she explain to them that it just did not matter to her…?

Her com beeped.

"Saved by the bell," said Anny as she got up to answer it.

"Payne here."

"Lieutenant, report to the Captain's day-cabin right away," said a voice.

"Acknowledged, I'm on my way."

"What now?" asked Chris. "They got another cruiser for you to board?"

Anny looked at her friends and grinned. "No idea. I guess we'll have to continue this later. Make yourselves at home, I don't know how long I'll be." She turned to the mirror and sealed her tunic, grabbed her cap and headed for the hatch.

"You're not getting off this easy, Anny," said Chris Tropio. "I'm not going to forget about this."

Anny just waved as she went through the hatchway.

[Scene Break]

Anny reached the Captain's day-cabin near the bridge in just a few minutes. The marine sentry announced her and she was ushered in. Inside were Captain Abiel Christopher and Commander Michael Brock, the first officer, sitting at a small table. Both men got to their feet as Anny came in.

Anny stopped and saluted. "Lieutenant Payne, reporting as ordered, sir."

"Ah, yes, Lieutenant. Good to see you. Have a seat." Christopher returned her salute and then gestured to a chair.

"Thank you, sir," said Anny as she sat down at the table. The two men resumed their seats opposite her. The Captain had that half-grin that Anny had come to recognize.

"Lieutenant? Do you remember a certain conversation with a certain High Admiral a few months ago?"

"Yes, sir. I'm not likely to forget that, sir."

"No, I suppose not," chuckled Christopher. "You might recall that he said we are going to be pushing you. Well, we have been pushing you. I pushed you into the bridge helm position and yesterday I pushed you onto the bridge of that Peep cruiser. You did very well with both of those jobs."

"Thank you, sir."

"So well, in fact, I am going to give you another push."

"Sir?"

"We have twenty-two captured enemy ships to deal with. Admiral Newsum has ordered the Task Group to provide prize crews to get them back to Alliance territory. All our ships will be pitching in, but the bulk of the people will have to come from _Alliance_ and _Redemption_. The merchant ships are no great problem. They have very small crews normally and we will be cutting that to the bare bones. It is the cruiser and destroyer that will be the challenge. The Admiral wants them to be sufficiently manned to fight if necessary. He intends to use them as part of the escort for those merchant ships."

"I see, sir," said Anny. A thrill of anticipation – or was it fear?– went through her. _Why is he telling this to me_?

"We have engineering crews over there already, pulling out the Peep computers and installing our own, and doing whatever else we have to to get those ships in fighting shape again."

Christopher stared at Anny intently. "We are making Commander Brock the skipper of that cruiser. I'd like you to be his first officer."

Anny was stunned. She had not expected anything like that! _Tester the Merciful! I'm not ready for something like this yet! _Her surprise must have been evident to Christopher.

"It's only temporary, Lieutenant. Just to get those ships back to the rear. After that you'll come back to _Alliance_. It will take us about a week to get them ready. We'll probably assign a couple of our own tin cans to beef up the escort and then we'll all leave together. The Task Group has got two more targets to hit before heading back to base. Your convoy will head for Holiway. There is a good grav wave that will take you practically straight there. It's an easy three week milk run."

The Captain stopped and chuckled. "In fact, it really will be a milk run: One of those ships has almost four million tons of dried milk aboard her. In any case, it will be three weeks to Holiway and then you can hitch a ride with a transport to get back to our base. It will probably be close to six weeks before we get back there so we can link up again."

Anny still felt very uncertain. "I see, sir. I…I've never done anything like this before, sir."

"I know you haven't. It will be on the job training, Lieutenant. Fortunately, your skipper has a lot of experience as a first officer and will be able to guide you." Christopher looked at her and smiled. "This is not an order, Anny. You can turn it down if you feel you must. But it will be a good experience for you and it will certainly look good on your record"

"And I'd be very glad to have you, Lieutenant," said Commander Brock. "I'll need you at Tactical as well as first officer. My background is more engineering oriented. I've seen your record and frankly, I'd be very happy to have a Saganami Island graduate at Tac."

"True," said the Captain. "You are an excellent pilot, Anny, but you realize you can't stay at the helm your whole career. The next obvious step up is to Tactical. Brock here will be getting his own ship before too much longer and then I'm going to need another watch officer. But then I am sort of pressuring you a bit here, aren't I?"

"Uh, just a bit, sir," said Anny sheepishly. "What about…"

"Oh good grief, I forgot to mention McDermott! Of course he would be going along. Mike, you can use a good officer at Damage Control, can't you?"

"Certainly, Captain. Lieutenant McDermott is an excellent choice – even if we didn't need him for any other reason."

Anny took a deep breath._ I can't believe this! Well, I guess I have to learn to fly on my own sometime!_

"All right, sir. I accept. And thank you for the opportunity. I'll do my best."

"I know you will, and I'm sure you will do fine. Don't worry about getting everything perfect. No one expects a prize crew to be perfect! This is a learning experience for everyone."

"Yes, sir. Uh, what do I do next?"

The Captain grinned. "Your duties here will be taken care of, don't worry. You report aboard _Coeur de Lion_ first thing tomorrow. In the meantime, pack your gear and I suggest you check out your Officer's Handbook. There is a very good section on the duties of a first officer."

"Yes, sir. Thank you again, sir. And to you, too, Commander – I mean 'Skipper'." Anny grinned and the two men did as well. They all rose and Anny shook hands with both of them.

"Congratulations, Anny. Oh, by the way, you are breveted Lieutenant Commander for the duration of this assignment. It's only temporary, but it will look good on your record, too."

"Thank you, sir."

[Scene Break]

When Anny got back to her quarters, Chris Tropio and Angie Harcourt were still there. They looked up as Anny entered.

"Well, what was that all about?" asked Tropio.

A huge grin split Anny's face.

"You're not going to believe it…"

**Chapter Twenty**

**P**atric McDermott tugged on the loaded cargo carrier, but one edge of it caught the side of the airlock door and it jarred to a halt with a loud thud. Patric swore under his breath and shoved the counter-grav supported platform back a half-meter and then pulled it forward again. This time he cleared the door and it floated out into the cargo bay of _GNS Coeur de Lion. _There were swarms of Grayson naval personnel bustling about the recently captured ship and Patric tried to stay out of their way with his bulky load.

The Admiral—or someone—had decided to leave the ship's name alone for the time being, but half the crew was already calling it the "Lionheart" rather than the real name. Patric did not care much one way or the other. He had his own set of names for the ship, but he would not think of repeating them in front of anyone else.

In the four days since her capture, engineering and damage control crews from the Task Group had been crawling all over her trying to get the ship combat ready. It involved replacing a lot of computer equipment and control devices. Patric had just gotten back from _Alliance_ with another load of hardware. As the Damage Control Officer for _Coeur de Lion_, he had a lot of responsibility and he had been putting in sixteen-hour days to get the job done.

He steered the balky platform to a clear area of the bay and stopped for a moment to catch his breath. He could have given this job to someone else, but the last time he did, some know-it-all in the supply department of _Alliance_ had talked Patric's messenger out of the items he really needed and substituted something else. That was not going to happen again. Patric was tired, but at the same time it was very interesting and exciting work.

"Well, hello there, Mr. Damage Control Officer," said a familiar voice. Patric turned and Anny was standing a few meters away with a compad in her hand. Patric smiled.

"Hello yourself, Ms. First Officer, ma'am," replied Patric, giving an exaggerated salute.

"How are you making out, Patric? You look tired."

"Well, I am, I guess. You don't exactly look well rested yourself. But things are coming along, I think we'll meet the deadline."

"That's good. Commander Brock is anxious that we don't delay the Admiral's plans."

"We may still be plugging in modules when we hyper out, but I think the ship will be functional. We've got a lot of people working on this." Patric paused and ran his hand through his hair, then he chuckled. "Y'know, we've got the engineering crew and the damage control people both assigned to the job. It's funny to see the way they each go about it. The engineers look at it like a design problem: how do they make the Peep equipment work with our controls? The DC people look at it from a battle damage viewpoint: something isn't working, how do we fix it? So far, both groups have made about the same amount of progress."

"What have you got here?" asked Anny, indicating the load on his carrier.

"New controllers for the missile tube mass drivers. The Peeps were very thorough in purging their computers. Nothing having to do with the weapons, the sensors, or the defenses worked when we took control. Rather than try to get our software to run on their computers, we are just ripping out everything we can and replacing them with spare parts from our stores."

"I know," said Anny. "We are having to dump all their missiles, too. They even erased the software in the guidance systems. We'll be getting some replacements from the munitions ships, but not a full load. Are the Peep tubes going to be able to handle our missiles?"

"They should, the diameter is only a few centimeters different, and with our having to recalibrate the tubes anyway, it shouldn't be a problem. How are things going from your end? Enjoying being the Exec?"

Anny rolled her eyes. "I had no idea it was so complicated! If Commander Brock wasn't helping me and guiding every step, I would hardly know what to do. Assembling the crew roster, assigning people to jobs, setting up watch lists, overseeing every task and duty to make sure it gets done and reporting the status to the skipper. And problems, problems, problems! Anyone with a problem comes to me. I can't believe how much I've learned in just three days."

"Is anyone giving you trouble? You know, about being a woman, I mean."

"Well, over half the crew is from _Alliance_; they're used to me, I guess. The men from the other ships are pretty surprised to see me, but no one's given me a real problem because of that. I've probably made a few enemies over decisions I had to make concerning use of resources, but that's just too bad."

"At least you're not the only woman on board," said Patric with a grin.

"Thank Goodness! Captain Christopher is just so considerate. Assigning Chris here will make it a lot easier on me, I think."

"And she's a darn good environmental officer to boot," said Patric. "I'm glad you've got another friend on board. Guess who else is here?"

"Who?"

"Evan. He practically begged me to talk to Commander Mendoza and get him assigned to the prize crew."

"Really? I must have missed his name on the roster. That's great. I've hardly seen him since we got back from our leave."

"Well, after my 'accident' the Captain took me off of any direct DC party involvement – you remember that – and they reworked the watch lists a bit. Evan's been on a different schedule from us. I guess he's been sleeping most times when we've been off duty. But we'll see more of him now. He seemed incredibly anxious to come along."

"It's a big adventure, isn't it?" grinned Anny. "As if being aboard a superdreadnought wasn't!"

"This is pretty interesting, but I hope we hook up with _Alliance_ before too long. I've grown kind of attached to her."

"Me too. Half my stuff is still aboard her for that matter. I guess it will be six weeks or so before we can get back. That won't be too bad."

"Nope, assuming we can ever get this hunk of junk ready for space," said Patric.

"Hunk of junk? That's a fine thing to say about our ship! Why, I'm sure you'll have _'Lionheart'_ purring like a kitten in no time."

"Maybe. She really is pretty old, though. She had a refit about three years ago, so she's not in too bad shape. She kind of reminds me of _Relentless_.

"I guess she does," said Anny. "Although I think she reminds _me_ more of the _Bancroft_".

Patric started. The _HMS Bancroft_ was an ancient cruiser used as a training vessel back at the Academy. Both of them had spent hours crawling through her. "Why you're right! I had never thought of that. This ship isn't nearly that old, but there are some similarities. When was this thing built? About forty or fifty years ago?"

"Forty-six T-years according to the builder's plaque on the bridge. But you are right, she has been refitted a number of times over the years. Except for being small and lightly armored compared to a modern cruiser, she's not too bad."

"And by the time we get through with her, her electronics will be mostly state of the art. There's no time to replace the actual sensor arrays, but the controllers are more critical anyway. I guess you are right: she'll be a pretty good ship once we get everything done. And standing here talking to you – as much as I enjoy it – isn't getting anything done."

"I was just about to say…" grinned Anny.

"See you later."

"Later."

[Scene Break]

"All right, try it again," said Patric.

"Yes, sir," said the missile tech. "Firing in five seconds. Four…three…two…one…fire." He pushed a button. There was no noticeable result from his action, but there was not supposed to be. Patric consulted his instruments.

"Damn! That number nine ring is still late! Okay, boys," he sighed, "take the covers off again and let's see if we can figure out what's wrong now."

Patric watched his crew go over to the enormous missile tube and begin taking access plates off to get at the mechanism inside. There was remarkably little grumbling considering they had been working on the same problem for nearly three hours. They had replaced all of the controllers for the mass drivers, but one of them was not working properly. The missile tubes produced a huge gravitational surge that would fling a missile clear of the ship at nearly a hundred kilometers per second. This was generated by a series of rings along the length of the tube. Each ring added to the pull on the missile. Once the missile was past each ring, it was supposed to shut off so as not to pull the missile back instead of forward. Since the entire operation lasted for less than a hundredth of a second, the timing was rather critical. For some reason, the number nine ring on tube twelve was refusing to behave.

After a few minutes the chief in charge of the work party came over to Patric.

"Lieutenant, I think the controller is bad on this one. Maybe we should just replace it."

Patric chewed on his lip. Chief Henly was a skilled worker, but like a lot of the petty officers he tried to boss the junior officers around. They usually succeeded because their many years of service often intimidated the youngsters. Patric could see his point, but it wouldn't do to concede too easily.

"It would take nearly three hours to replace the controller, Chief. We might figure out the problem in ten minutes and save all that time. I'll tell you what: I have a staff meeting to go to in a few minutes. Let's split the difference. If you can't get this thing to work in an hour, then go ahead and replace the controller. I'll check back with you after the meeting."

The chief grinned. "Okay, sir, sounds good."

The man turned away and went back to his crew. Patric felt quite certain that the man would end up replacing the controller – and he would not wait an hour to do it – but he would drive his people to get it done in less than three hours. It was a good solution: the job gets done and everyone is happy. Patric was slowly learning that diplomacy was just as much a part of his job as damage control.

He checked his chrono and saw that he had to get cleaned up for the staff meeting. The ship was due to leave tomorrow and the Skipper wanted reports from all the department heads. Patric wished he could report that all the missile tubes were functional, but tube twelve was the last one, and it was still down. He sighed and started up the ladder.

[Scene Break]

"Excellent job, everyone," said Commander Michael Brock. "Frankly, I never would have believed we could get this ship ready as quickly as we have – of course I was not going to tell you that until after you'd done it."

Everyone around the table grinned along with their captain. Patric looked from face to face. He could see the dark circles under their eyes and the fatigue, but the looks of pride and elation at Brock's words were just as plain. It was amazing what a good team they had become in so short a time.

Commander Brock had been the driving force behind them. His years as a first officer taught him just how and where to push to get the job done. Anny had been his right hand. Patric knew that in spite of her doubts and trivializing her own abilities, she had done a great job. Brock could only be in one place at a time and Anny had been an extra set of eyes and ears. After only a day or two she was making decisions on her own and easing Brock's load even more.

The other department heads were good people, too. Lieutenant Philip VanVeen, the engineering officer, was from one of the other ships in the Task Group. Like Patric, he was a Manticoran volunteer. He was Patric's immediate superior and fortunately, the two young men got along very well. VanVeen had the most amazing store of profanity Patric had ever encountered and he often left Patric gasping with laughter.

Lieutenant Nick Brown was the Astrogator and Patric had been surprised at his willingness and ability to help out with the navigational computers. Lieutenant Martin Lewis was the ship's surgeon. Patric had not had much opportunity to get to know him, but he seemed competent enough. Lieutenant George Yarnell was the logistics officer, and Patric had gotten to know him very well indeed. At first there had been some friction: Yarnell had played the thrifty supply officer for too long and Patric had trouble getting the items he needed. But once Yarnell had it impressed on him by Commander Brock, that the ship had absolute priority and he would not be held responsible for any waste, he had pitched in and gotten Patric virtually anything he wanted. In fact, they had a rather incredible collection of spares they would probably never need stashed away down in the hold. Logistics officers were part pack rat, it seemed.

"There are still a lot of things left to do," said Brock. "But none of them will prevent me from telling the Admiral that we are ready for space. He intends that our convoy and the Task Group depart at the same time, even though we'll be going in opposite directions. Departure time is set for 0900 tomorrow." The Commander took on a slightly smug expression. "The repairs on _Luneville_, the ex-Peep destroyer, are not as far along, but she is spaceworthy and will be coming with us as part of the escort. We will have two destroyers from the Task Group assigned to us: _Trevose_ and _Meadowbrook_. Commander Hotchkiss of the _Meadowbrook_ will actually command the escort."

Brock's expression darkened slightly. "As pleased as I am with our performance in getting this ship operational, I'm sure you all realize that is only half the job. The ship works, but now we have to get the crew working just as well. We have been so focused on the hardware issues that we have not been able to do any training at all. We have good people here, but they have to learn to work together as a team. Once we are under way, we will be instituting a vigorous training program. Commander Hotchkiss has already told me that he intends to run a lot of exercises with the convoy escort. The Commander has several years' experience on escort duty and he's going to be expecting quite a lot from us.

"And so am I. I know you and your people have all been working very hard. Please pass on my compliments to them. I wish I could tell you that once we get on our way, we can relax a little, but you all know that won't be possible. We only have a crew two-thirds the size of normal for a ship like this. So in addition to finishing the repairs and training ourselves, we will all be standing three watches a day. It's not going to be a vacation cruise, I'm afraid. But I expect this ship to pull its weight. I have confidence that when we reach Holiway the _Coeur de Lion_ will be as good as any in the Fleet.

"We will be getting under way in less than twenty-four hours. Make your final preparations and if there are any last minute issues that come up, please see the Exec. Any questions? No? Well then, let's get to it."

[Scene Break]

"Engineering, secure the impellers and deploy the Warshawski sails. Make ready on the hyperdrive."

"Aye, aye, sir," said Philip VanVeen.

Patric glanced over at the Engineering officer from his post at Damage Control. He shook his head slightly and grinned. VanVeen had an appropriate obscenity for almost every occasion, but he never let one loose on the bridge. Working to get the ship ready, or on a rare break, he could peel the paint right off the bulkhead with his language. Patric was convinced that he had once fixed a malfunctioning controller just by swearing at it. But on the bridge – or whenever Anny or the Skipper was about – he was as proper as could be. Patric expected him to slip up eventually, but he had not so far.

Patric returned his attention to the navigational display, which was on the main monitor. Their convoy had just passed the hyper limit and was preparing to transit into hyperspace. Off to one side of the display, he could see the large icon representing Task Group 32.3. They were heading out as well, although in another direction. Near the bottom of the display was another icon showing the small garrison force that had been left behind to hold Boetia.

"Radio signal from Admiral Newsum for the convoy, sir," announced Andrew Siganuk, the Communication's Officer.

"Put it through," said Brock.

The main screen lit up with the image of the Admiral. Patric whistled silently to himself. They were nearly a light-hour away from the Task Group at this point. It must have taken a few calculations to figure out just when to send this. Another few minutes and they would be long gone.

"Good luck to all of you," said Newsum. "Once again, a great job getting all of those ships operational. We'll see you when we get back. Newsum out."

"That's all, sir," said Siganuk. Then there was another beep on his console. "Message from _Meadowbrook_ to the convoy, sir."

Brock smiled. "I wonder if we'll ever get into hyperspace if this keeps up. Put him through, Ensign."

"Hotchkiss to all ships. Enough of this blathering! We will hyper out twenty seconds from my mark…Now! See you in hyper. Hotchkiss, out."

"Well that's more like it!" chuckled Brock. "Stand by on the hyperdrive. On the Commander's mark."

"Ten seconds, sir," said Nick Brown.

Brock pressed the "All Hands" button on his command chair.

"Attention! Hyper in five seconds."

Patric tensed his stomach muscles. He hated the sensation the hyperdrive gave him. Tensing his muscles did not do any good, but he tensed them anyway. The last second ticked off and _GNS Coeur de Lion_ and the twenty-three other ships of the convoy and escort blinked out of normal space.

[Scene Break]

Captain Herb Levenger looked at his display on the bridge of the heavy cruiser _GNS Fidelity. _The convoy disappeared and then a few minutes later Task Group 32.3 vanished as well.

"That's the last of them," he said. "Ready for four months of exciting garrison duty, Freddy?"

"Well, Skipper," said his exec, Fred Ianitto, "Considering that it's just us, two tin cans, and a troop transport, I'd prefer that we had as little excitement as possible. We're not exactly equipped to deal with much excitement."

"I suppose you are right. From what I hear, things are getting a little exciting dirtside, but that sort of excitement I can do without, too."

"Really? Trouble?"

"Well, not for us, but Brigadier Shackleford tells me the locals are already going after Peep sympathizers."

"Inevitable I suppose," said Ianitto with a frown.

"Yeah, you're probably right. But unless it gets totally out of hand, it's not _our_ problem."

Levenger looked back to the display for a few seconds.

"Well, we are on station along with _Bethayres_ and _Gallipoli. Rydal_ is on station beyond the hyper limit, and all is right with the universe. I'm going to go get a shower. You have the watch, Freddy."

"Aye, aye, sir, enjoy your shower."

Twenty minutes later, Commander Ianitto was working on adjusting his watch lists to fill in the holes left by the forty crewmen who were with the prize ships. He nearly fell out of his chair when the Sensor Officer suddenly shouted.

"Sensor contact!"

"What!? Where?"

"Out beyond the hyper limit! Sector eighty-four-B! We have a sensor platform only ten light seconds away from there."

"Sound General Quarters! Whoever the Hell the are, they sure aren't ours!"

The ungodly sound of the battlestations siren howled through the ship.

Within seconds, the captain was on the com.

"What's going on?" he demanded.

"Sensor contact out beyond the hyper limit, sir! Four ships; they just popped out of nowhere, they must have been lying doggo all the time we were here."

"I'll be right there."

Less than two minutes later, Captain Levenger was back on the bridge. He was wearing a bathrobe and carrying his skinsuit. His hair was dripping wet.

"Report!" he snapped.

"Four ships, sir. We've got good reads on all of them. Two heavy cruisers- a _Mars_ and a _Scimitar_- and two destroyers. They are just sitting there."

"Freddy, kick me in the ass the next time I say anything about wanting excitement."

"Yes sir. Do you think they'll attack?"

"I don't…"

The Sensor Officer interrupted: "Sir! They're bringing up their sails! They're going into hyper!"

They officers watched in surprise and a few moments later the icons representing the enemy ships vanished.

"Well, I'll be damned," said Ianitto.

"Probably, Freddy, but not today."

"Why'd they bug out? They've been sitting here watching us for a week. They've got more than enough muscle to force us to run."

"Just as a guess, I'd say it was _Gallipoli_. On sensors she would read as a battlecruiser. As far as they could probably tell, she really _is_ a battlecruiser. The real question is what were they up to?"

"Why would a force like that be all in one spot lying doggo? A picket force would be spread out."

"The escort for that Peep convoy did seem awfully light," said Levenger, half to himself. "This must have been the other half of the escort. When we popped in they just sat there real quiet."

"And where are they headed now?"

"That, Freddy, is the big question. They could just be skedaddling towards the nearest friendly base. That could mean trouble for us if they come back with help. Or they could try to shadow the Task Group and send word ahead of where it's going. Or, they could go after the convoy."

"Shadowing the Task Group would be pretty difficult, without knowing where they are going beforehand," observed Ianitto.

"True, and since they are all fast ships, it would be hard to get ahead of them anyway. Catching the convoy, on the other hand, would be a lot easier. They can guess from where they hypered out where they were headed and once they are in that grav wave they can just search the Delta Band until they find them."

"Hell," said Ianitto. "What do we do?"

Levenger chewed on his lip and stared at the display for several minutes. His wet hair dripped on the deck without his noticing.

"We have to stay here," he said at last. "We can't go charging off and leave _Gallipoli_. I can send one of the destroyers as a messenger, but I have to keep the other one here. Damn! If I just had a courier!"

"So where are you sending the 'can?"

"It could catch the convoy easier, but one extra destroyer won't do much good even assuming it could find them before the Peeps. And if the Peeps _are_ just running for help, it doesn't let anyone know _we_ might be in trouble here. If I send it out right now, _Rydal_ might be able to catch the Task Group and they could send back help."

"Pretty long odds on that, Skipper," said Ianitto.

"I know, I know. But it's the best choice, I think. Communications! Fire up the grav com to get a message to _Rydal_."

"Aye aye, sir."

"But what about the convoy, sir?"

Levenger frowned.

"They're on their own."

**Chapter Twenty-One**

"**M**essage from Escort Commander, sir: 'Not too bad. Exercise completed. We'll try it again later.' End of message, sir," reported the Com Officer aboard _Coeur de Lion_.

"'Not too bad'! It was damn near perfect!" exclaimed Commander Brock.

"Commander Hotchkiss seems to be a perfectionist, sir," said Anny Payne with a grin.

"Hmmm. We'll see about that. Stand down from General Quarters. Well done everyone."

"You would think Commander Hotchkiss would be satisfied with having the most orderly merchant convoy in history, sir," said Lieutenant VanVeen at the Engineering Station.

Everyone grinned at that. The twenty merchant ships of the convoy, all crewed with naval personnel, had been keeping station and obeying orders like a well-drilled battle squadron.

"Yes, after years of herding recalcitrant merchant skippers, he should be savoring this instead of browbeating the escorts," chuckled Brock.

"Perhaps he sees it as his one and only chance to ever get everything right, sir," suggested Anny.

"Maybe. In any case, _I_ think we did a good job, people. Mister Radakovich, put us back on our proper station, please."

"Aye, aye, sir," said the helmsman.

Brock checked the time and then stretched. "This watch is almost up. I don't know about you folks, but I'm going to get some sleep while I can."

[Scene Break]

"Lieutenant McDermott, a moment of your time please," said Anny Payne.

The Bridge crew had just been relieved and they were wearily heading for their quarters to sleep, or the mess to get some food. Patric stopped and looked at Anny.

"Yes, ma'am?"

"There's something I need to show you down on 'C' Deck. Come with me please."

Anny led the way and Patric followed along. Shortly they were standing in a stretch of corridor that was completely unremarkable.

"What did you want to show me, Anny?" asked Patric, stifling a yawn.

"Do you see that hatch?" she said, indicating one of several hatches on one bulkhead.

"Yes, what about it?"

"Well, if you open the hatch…" Anny did so. "… you see there is this storage room inside." Anny ushered Patric inside and shut the hatch behind them.

"Okay, it's a storage room, so what?"

"Well, this storage room happens to have another door in the opposite bulkhead." Anny pointed to another hatch.

"Yes?" Patric looked rather bleary-eyed.

"And if you open _this_ hatch, there is another corridor outside." Anny opened the hatch and, indeed there was another passageway on the other side. Patric followed her through it with a shrug of his shoulders.

"And now," Anny whispered. "You can see that off of this passageway there are several hatches – one of which has my name on it." Patric looked and sure enough, it was the door to Anny's quarters. Patric looked at her blankly. Anny opened the hatch.

"And the _very_ interesting thing is," she continued to whisper, "the marine sentry guarding 'Ladies Country' is around the bend of the corridor, 'way down there." Anny pointed down the passageway.

When Patric looked the way she was pointing, Anny suddenly pushed him into her quarters and shut the hatch behind them.

"And _that_ means you and I are alone in here together and nobody knows it!" Anny proclaimed triumphantly.

Patric's look of surprise turned to a knowing grin.

"Anny, we're both tired…" he said, shaking his head.

Anny's smile faded and she stared at him.

"I know, Patric. And I'm not going to try and seduce you—this time. I…I just needed to be alone with you for a few minutes. Is that okay?" Her voice was soft and entirely unlike that of a First Officer. Patric's grin became a smile and his eyes found hers.

"Of course it's all right. C'mere, you." He held out his arms and Anny moved into them. She snuggled up to him and closed her eyes. _Sweet Tester but I need him! I've been so scared this last week!_ She sniffled slightly, and Patric was immediately aware of it.

"Are you okay, Kiddo?"

"I guess so. Being a First Officer is a lot harder than I ever realized. Sometimes I didn't think I was going to be able to handle it – and I needed a hug!"

"You've been doing great," said Patric reassuringly. "But… they have been pushing you pretty hard, haven't they?" Anny nodded her head against his chest.

"Too hard, do you think?" he asked. Anny pulled away slightly, and looked into his eyes.

"I don't know, Patric. I have been able to handle it, I guess, but sometimes I feel like I'm on a tightrope with a huge fall on either side. I suppose I should be grateful for the opportunity – good grief! Less than a year out of the Academy and I'm second in command of a heavy cruiser! – But with every opportunity is the chance to fail.

"And there are so many people watching me to see if I fail. Some of them want me to fail…"

Patric held her closely again.

"Anny, you are such a wonderful person. You are not going to fail. You are going to show them all. God, I love you so much!"

"I love you, too, Patric."

They held each other for a very long time. After a while Anny slowly reached up her hand to his neck. They were both still wearing their skinsuits from the last exercise. She began to unseal the top of Patric's. He gently took her hand in his.

"Anny…"

"I know. I promised. But I was remembering us up at the lake. It was so good to feel you against me. I…I need to feel you next to me again. Please?"

"Well…okay, but no funny business."

They slowly unsealed each other's skinsuits and helped pull off the tops of the tight garments. Eventually, they were both naked from the waist up.

"Lord, you are beautiful," whispered Patric.

Anny pressed herself against him. It did feel so good; so warm; so comforting. _He's my strength. When he's around I can do what has to be done. _It was like that awful, wonderful day back on the Island. She could feel his strength flowing into her. The doubts and fears seemed to melt away. After a few minutes, mischievous thoughts began creeping into her head.

_If I were to put my foot there, and then pivot, like Sergeant Lakner taught us, we would both fall over, right onto the bed…_

Before Anny could carry out her plan, a horrendous sound shrieked through the compartment scaring both of them out of their wits. It was the Peep version of the battlestations alarm. They stared at each other with wide eyes.

"Oh shit!" said Anny.

[Scene Break]

Anny and Patric reached the bridge a few seconds ahead of Commander Brock.

"Report!" said Brock.

"Unknown contacts, sir! Four of them, about ten light minutes ahead," reported the Sensor Officer. "They just popped in from another micro band. They are moving the same direction we are, but they are decelerating. We are closing at about point two Cee."

Anny relieved Ensign Tanner at the Tactical Station. Tanner moved over to the missile defense station, not that they could use missiles in a grav wave. She saw Patric taking over his post at Damage Control. Within another minute, the prime watch was all present.

"All decks report at battlestations, sir," said Anny.

"Signal from _Meadowbrook_, sir," said Ensign Siganuk.

"All escorts form on me," ordered Commander Hotchkiss. "All other ships prepare to scatter on my command."

"Mister Radakovich, close up on _Meadowbrook_," ordered Brock.

"Aye aye, sir."

"Are we sure they are hostiles, sir?" asked Anny.

"Not likely to be anyone else out here. But Hotchkiss is waiting for a better sensor read before he scatters us."

"How did they find us?" asked Lieutenant Pickering at Sensors.

"Just as a guess, I'd say they were skulkers that were hanging around at Boetia. If they followed us into hyper, they probably translated up into the Epsilon Band, overflew us and then came back down in front of us."

"Getting more information now, sir," said Pickering. "It reads as two cruisers – one of them pretty big, either a _Mars_ or a small battlecruiser – and two destroyers. Range is now nine light minutes."

Another minute passed and Hotchkiss was back on the com.

"All right people, the merchant ships will all scatter and proceed independently. Keep changing your hyper microbands and trust to luck. They can't possibly get very many of you and we'll do our best to make sure they don't get any at all. A special order to the two of you with the Peep prisoners: If one of those ships latches on to you and you can't shake it, surrender before they get within weapons range. That's an order. Contact them and tell them what you are carrying. We are not going to be responsible for the slaughter of a bunch of POWs. Good luck, and Godspeed."

Anny nodded her head, but then a shudder went through her. '_We'll do our best to make sure they don't get any at all'! _Hotchkiss was going to engage the Peeps!

"Orders for the escort," continued Hotchkiss. "Keep your hyper generators hot. The Peeps may try to go after the merchant ships instead of us. We will track on the largest enemy ship. If it shifts bands we will follow it. I'll have more instructions in a few minutes. Hotchkiss out."

"You heard that, Mister VanVeen. Stand by on the hyper generator. Mister Pickering keep a close watch on that Peep."

"Aye, aye, sir."

Only a few seconds later, the first of the merchant vessels winked off the tactical display as they shifted microbands. Within a few more seconds they were all gone.

Then the Peeps vanished, too.

"They've moved up a microband, sir," reported Pickering.

"Take us up to follow."

"Yes, sir."

Anny felt a tiny twinge as the ship translated upward one microband. Shifting microbands within the larger hyper bands took much less energy and produce far less stomach upset than crossing one of the "walls" between the major hyper bands. The Peeps and a batch of the freighters reappeared on her tactical display. The Warshawski sails of the vessels were like beacons on the grav detectors and could be picked up far beyond the range of any electromagnetic sensors.

After a moment, most of the freighters vanished, followed a few seconds later by the Peeps.

"They've gone up again," said Pickering.

"Stay with them," ordered Brock.

Another twinge, and the ships were back on the display.

They moved upwards again, and the escort ships followed.

Again they vanished, but this time Pickering exclaimed in surprise:

"The freighters went up again, sir, but the Peeps have gone down a microband!"

"Well, down we go after them," said Brock.

A moment later the Peeps were back on the screen.

Several minutes passed and the enemy made a half dozen more shifts of microbands. Finally, they stopped shifting and their icon glared steadily on the tactical display.

"They've stopped decelerating, sir," said Pickering. "They have come about and are accelerating the same direction we are, but we are still overtaking them fast. Range is seven light minutes. We will intercept in them in nineteen minutes. Relative velocity at interception will be about thirty thousand KPS."

"Commander Hotchkiss on the com, sir," said Ensign Siganuk.

"Well, we've tossed down the gauntlet and the Peeps seem to have picked it up. Gentlemen, I don't have to tell you that we are heavily out-gunned. We are going to make one high speed pass through their formation and then get the hell out of here. I want you to charge up your hyper generators. After we exchange a broadside, we will shift bands. _Trevose_ and _Luneville_ will go up into the Epsilon band, while _Lionheart_ and _Meadowbrook_ will go down to Gamma. Stay together and be ready to tractor your partner if they lose a sail. Afterwards, make it to Holiway as best you can. If you pick up any of the merchants, give them an escort."

Hotchkiss paused and there was a dead silence on the bridge of _Coeur de Lion_.

"Gentlemen, I'm not asking you to pull a Zilwicki here. There is nothing on any of those freighters that is worth sacrificing all of us for. But we are not going to run without a fight either. We're going to let these bastards know who they are up against!"

A low growl of agreement could be heard on the ship's bridge, but Anny and Patric looked at each other in surprise. Their roommate at the Academy had been Helen Zilwicki. Her mother's gallant and hopeless fight to save an important convoy at the start of the war had already become a legend. For the Royal Navy and its protégé, the Grayson Navy, Zilwicki's fight had taken on the same moral importance as Thermopylae and the Alamo had in ancient times. Anny felt an indescribable thrill go through her. It was part fear and part…what? Pride? Determination? She wasn't sure. But she was sure that she was ready to do her duty. She nodded to Patric and turned back to her station. Hotchkiss was still talking.

"All right, we are going to have a chance to put our training to work sooner than I had expected. Now here is what I want us to do…"

[Scene Break]

"Energy range in five minutes, sir," said Anny Payne. "Capacitors are at full charge. All weapons ready to fire."

"Hyper generator ready to engage," said Philip VanVeen.

"All damage control parties on alert and ready, sir," said Patric. "Unoccupied compartments are in vacuum."

"Enemy is holding course, we are closing at thirty-five thousand KPS," said Lieutenant Pickering.

"Very well. Commander Payne, program the weapons to fire according to plan. Lieutenant VanVeen, set the hyper generator to kick in automatically one second after the broadside batteries fire."

"Aye, aye, sir," answered Anny and VanVeen together.

Anny looked to her display and for one horrifying instant, she did not know what to do. The control panel looked utterly strange and made no sense to her at all. Then she blinked and the moment of panic passed. She began to enter the instructions.

The two forces were closing very rapidly and in just a few minutes they would open fire. Missiles could not be used in a grav wave, which meant that it would be energy weapons only. Close range and heavy damage in a few seconds. The ships had their Warshawski sails up and two disks of energy, a hundred and fifty kilometers in diameter, projected from the impeller rings near the bow and stern of each vessel. The sails were just as impenetrable to weapons fire as an impeller wedge, but there were no sidewalls. That meant that the hammerhead bow and stern of each ship was completely exposed to enemy fire.

As the two forces closed, they would get a few shots off with their bow and stern chase weapons. Then, as they flashed by each other, their broadsides would come into action. The two enormous disks of the Warshawski sails, mounted less than a kilometer apart on these small ships, restricted the broadsides to an extremely narrow field of fire, less than half a degree wide. The firing window would be open for only a tiny fraction of a second. It had to be left to the computers.

Anny finished her instructions. Then she closed and locked the shock frame on her chair. She swallowed nervously and watched the icons of the enemy ships getting closer. They _were_ heavily outgunned. The _Mars_ class cruiser outmassed their whole force by itself. The Peep ships were light on energy weapons, but then half of the Grayson ships were Peep-built too. Combat in hyperspace was rare. Anny and the others had drilled on it, but she doubted if anyone in the force – including Commander Hotchkiss – had ever actually done it. The Peep training standards were generally lower; hopefully none of them had any experience either.

Not that personal skill was going to count for a great deal. It would be impossible to aim for a specific part of a ship under these circumstances, but they were hoping to bring down the Warshawski sails on at least one of the enemy ships. A ship with only one sail could not maneuver in a grav wave and would eventually be destroyed unless a friend could tow them clear of the wave with a tractor beam. But bringing down a sail was not easy. Even though only one Alpha nodes had to be hit, they were relatively tiny targets and they were largely protected by the bulge of the ship's hammerheads.

"Energy range in three minutes," said Anny. "Firing instructions complete."

"Signal from _Meadowbrook_, sir: 'Start the weave'," said Ensign Siganuk.

"Very well," said Commander Brock. "Helm, execute Alpha One."

"Aye aye, sir. Executing now."

The enemy ships had been spread out in a line abreast formation and the Grayson ships had done the same. Now, however, the Grayson ships began to weave back and forth, passing in front of each other, changing places and attempting to complicate the Peep's targeting.

"Energy range in two minutes," said Anny. She hoped her voice did not sound as nervous as she felt. She was scared, no doubt about that. She had been scared back on _Relentless_, too, but that had happened so fast she had no time to feel it.

"All right, helmets on, everyone," said Commander Brock. "If you are going to need them at all, there will be no time to put them on later."

Anny took her vac helmet off its rack next to her chair and fastened it in place and checked the seal. She looked to make sure Patric had done the same. She said a silent prayer for them both.

"Oh, and Commander Payne," said Brock. Anny swiveled her chair to look at her skipper. "If anything should happen to me, I'm counting on you to get the ship home." He smiled at her and winked like it was a joke, but Anny felt an icicle in her stomach.

"Yes, sir," she said and nodded. Then she turned back to her station.

The seconds ticked away as the two forces drew nearer.

"Energy range in one minute."

"Helm, stand by to execute Alpha Two at energy range minus three seconds. Alpha Three is fifteen seconds after that. Do not wait for my command, execute on the mark."

"Aye aye, sir," said Ensign Radakovich. "Executing Alpha Two in forty-five seconds from…now."

The seconds reeled down with dizzying speed. Anny clutched the arms of her chair. She had done everything she could. It was all in the Tester's hands now.

"Energy range in ten seconds."

"Executing Alpha Two…Now!"

Against a target with no sidewalls, energy range for the modest weapons mounted by these cruisers and destroyers was about a half million kilometers. There would be an enormous temptation to get off the first shot as quickly as possible. To hit the enemy before he could hit you – or at least get a shot off before he could knock out _your_ weapons. There was also the temptation to go after the most powerful enemy ship. Commander Hotchkiss was counting on the Peeps to do this and he planned accordingly.

Just prior to entering energy range, the Grayson ships stopped their random weaving and the three destroyers moved in front of _Coeur de Lion_, shielding her with their Warshawski sails. The stern chase weapons of the enemy ships lashed out, but their volley impacted uselessly on the destroyers' sails. The destroyers fired back, but they concentrated on a lone Peep destroyer.

"At least one hit on the 'can!" said Pickering excitedly.

"Destroyers are moving aside," said Anny. "We are firing…now!"

While the enemy ships' weapons were recycling, the destroyers moved apart to unmask _Coeur de Lion_. Her two bow lasers spat fire at the _Mars._ Everything was happening impossibly fast.

"A hit! We hit her square! Enemy ships firing again!"

The ship shuddered as something hit them.

"Hit forward," reported Patric. "Missile Tube One out of action."

"Firing…"

"Another hit!"

The ship lurched again.

"Hit forward…"

"Executing Alpha Three…Now!"

As the ships hurtled toward each other, the Graysons had momentarily resumed the line abreast formation and exchanged fire. It seemed as though they intended for the two lines to pass through each other, the ships trading broadsides as they passed. Now, only seconds away from closest approach, the Graysons suddenly swung towards the gap between the big _Mars_ class cruiser and a flanking destroyer. The Peeps were caught off guard and could not react quickly enough.

As they passed through the interval in the enemy line, each Grayson ship could fire both broadsides – one at the big cruiser, and one at the hapless destroyer. The Peeps, on the other hand, only got off a single broadside apiece. It all happened so fast, only the computers knew what was happening in the battle.

The crew of _Coeur de Lion_ only knew what was happening to them.

"Broadside batteries firing…"

"Engaging hyper generator…"

A shattering blow struck the ship. Anny was slammed against her shock frame as smoke and a searing sheet of flame washed over her.

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

**A**nny Payne bounced back from the shock frame and tried to shield her face with her hands and lower her visor. But then, suddenly, the flames were gone and something snatched at her breath. A roaring filled the compartment and wind rushed past her. She turned slightly to her left and she saw a gaping hole in the deck. The smoke and flame and small bits of debris were being sucked into the hole.

_Hull breach!_

The sensor in her helmet detected the pressure drop and her visor snapped shut automatically. She instinctively looked for Patric and was relieved to see him, apparently unharmed at his station. Everyone seemed okay, in fact…

A moment later, the gale had stopped. For an instant, Anny assumed they were in vacuum, but then she saw wisps of smoke still floating in the air. Somewhere in the depths of the ship an emergency bulkhead had slammed shut and sealed off the breach. Air was pouring back into the bridge through the ventilation ducts.

Anny was still a bit dazed, but she turned back to her tactical display.

It was blank. Working, but no targets at all. She had not felt the hyper generator kick in, but it must have. But where was _Meadowbrook_…?

"My scope is blank, sir," she said. "No Peeps, but no sign of _Meadowbrook_."

"Transition completed, sir," reported VanVeen.

"We have taken multiple hits along both beams, sir," said Patric. I'm not sure of what's been hit yet. We've also taken damage aft. I'll get details as soon as possible."

Anny was replaying her tactical readout in slow motion.

"Sir, we took out the Peep destroyer …and I think one of the sails on the _Mars_ went down, too. Hard to say for sure, but I don't think they'll be bothering anyone for a while. And…oh…Sweet Tester…that was _Meadowbrook_. I'm sorry, sir. They…they just blew. Sir…?"

"Sir…?"

"_Commander Brock!"_

Anny had turned all the way around to face her skipper.

He wasn't there. Neither was his command chair. There was a heap of twisted wreckage piled against one bulkhead that had once been a command chair. And there was something underneath it…

"Medical team to the bridge!" shouted Anny into her com. She threw off her shock frame and lunged towards the pile of wreckage.

And stopped…

She could see a foot… and a hand …and part of another leg…and blood.

"Oh God…" she took hold of the chair, but she didn't know what to do.

Suddenly Patric was there beside her. He grabbed the chair and heaved. It must have weighed two hundred kilos, but he pulled it off his commander and tossed it aside like a toy.

Commander Brock was lying under where the chair had been.

Anny sank to her knees beside him. She tried to determine what his injuries were, but there did not seem to be anything that was _not_ injured. His helmet visor was cracked on one side and blood covered half his face. His left foot was twisted almost backwards and the skinsuit there was shredded. His right arm didn't seem too bad, but his left arm…

His left arm wasn't there at all.

It had been torn off, along with most of the shoulder and part of his torso. Anny looked in horror. She could see exposed bones and tattered flesh…

And blood. Lots of blood.

But some of the blood was spurting out. He was still alive.

Anny had first aid training like all personnel, but nothing had prepared her for this.

_Where is that medical team!?_

The blood continued to spurt, but there was so much of it already spilled, he would surely bleed to death in moments. Anny had no clue what to do, but she reached out and pressed her gloved hands where the bleeding was worst. She had nothing to use as a bandage, so she used her hands. Brock flinched slightly at her touch. Blood welled out over her hands. She wasn't doing any good…

"McDermott!" Anny heard Lieutenant VanVeen's voice from behind her. "I think we've got another problem. Come take a look at this."

Anny wanted to know what was happening. She numbly realized that she was in command now, but she couldn't let go of Brock!

"What's going on?" she called over her shoulder. "Status report!"

"Not sure yet, ma'am," said VanVeen. "Damage to the after Alpha ring. I'm getting some strange readings here…"

And suddenly the medics were there. Three of them, swarming around her. They had their equipment out, but they seemed almost as shocked as Anny.

"Sweet Tester, what a mess," said one of them.

"Keep your hands there Lieutenant," said another.

One looked to clip his medical scanner to the feeds on Brock's skinsuit, but the feeds were gone. He pulled out a few probes from the back of his unit and pressed them to Brock's body.

"Vitals are almost gone! We're losing him!"

Another medic was spraying med-gel all over the open wounds. All over Anny's hands.

"You can take your hands away now, Lieutenant. Thanks."

"We'll never get him to the surgeon in time. We're going to have to freeze him."

A chill went through Anny. She knew far more about that subject than she wanted. They had nearly had to freeze her after her wounds on the Peep cruiser. "Freezing" was the absolute last resort in emergency medical care. The subject was not really frozen, but was given a massive dose of drugs similar to what had been used to put early colonist into suspended animation on their centuries-long voyages. It would slow down cellular degradation and allow the victim to be transported to the proper facilities and treated. But recovery would take years and there was always some brain damage and memory loss…

"Do you have to?" she asked. "Are you sure?"

"He'll be dead in two minutes if we don't," said one of them as he pulled out the equipment he needed.

Anny knelt there as they peeled off the remains of Brock's skinsuit from around his neck. They did not even stop to remove his helmet. They attached a large metal collar to one side of his neck. There was a canister attached by a tube…

One of them hit a switch on the side of the collar.

Within seconds, a ghastly blue color seemed to flow through Brock's body. He twitched and his eyelid fluttered. His right hand actually moved up towards the collar on his neck before falling back. After a few more moments he was utterly still. No blood was seeping through the med-gel now. He was not breathing either.

_If anything should happen to me, I'm counting on you to get the ship home._

Anny looked on for a few moments as the medics unfolded a stretcher and prepared to move Brock. She glanced around as she tried to collect herself and every bridge officer except Patric and VanVeen was also watching. Then she started to get to her feet…

The ship lurched.

Anny fell to her hands and knees.

"What's happening?" she called.

"The after sail is fluctuating!" exclaimed VanVeen. "We lost two of the Alpha ring power converters during the fight, and a third one is damaged. I'm having trouble getting good data here, I think something's wrong with the telemetry."

Anny swallowed. They had managed to escape without losing an Alpha node, but each of the nodes was fed by an enormous power converter that handled the variable flow of energy both into and out of the sails. Even though they were protected by the armored skin of the ship, they were much larger targets than the nodes themselves. Fortunately, it was possible to lose a few of them without losing the sail, but only a few…

"Can't you increase power to the other converters to compensate?" asked Anny as she pulled herself up.

"Trying, ma'am, but there must be some damage to the controls; it's fighting me."

The ship shuddered again, but more gently. The inertial compensator was designed to counteract accelerations along the axis of the ship. It did not handle unexpected lateral movements nearly as well.

Anny reached the engineering station and looked over VanVeen's shoulder.

"All right," he said. "I've got the other six converters running at a hundred and twenty percent; the sail's firming up. That number fifteen converter has got me worried though."

"Ma'am? I think we've got another problem," said Ensign Radakovich at the helm.

"What is it, Ensign?"

"I'm having trouble holding her steady. I noticed we were starting to drift off course and when I tried to correct it…"

Anny moved to the helm station.

"I input a course and it turns to match, but then it swings right on by. It won't steady down, and it's getting worse!"

"Lieutenant VanVeen, what's happening here?" asked Anny.

"Something with the automatic sail trim controls, I imagine. Ma'am, there's more trouble with the controls than just this. I can't get any accurate readings up here. I'm going down to the after impeller room and check it out for myself."

"All right, but keep us informed; I don't like the looks of this at all," said Anny.

"Right, ma'am." VanVeen headed towards the main hatch and then stopped when he saw the medical team in front of him. He hesitated for a moment and then went out the other hatch.

Anny turned back to the helm station. She did not know Ensign Radakovich very well, but he seemed bright and talented. Right now he also seemed very frightened.

"I can't get it, ma'am! It just won't steady down!"

"Take it easy, Daniel," she soothed. Or she hoped she sounded soothing. _I could use someone to soothe me right now!_

"Put us on a base-line heading with the wave flow and set the grab factor to zero. See if that helps any."

"Aye aye, ma'am, I'll try."

Anny scanned the readouts on the panel to try to spot anything that might explain the problem they were having. She could not see anything obvious, but there was clearly something wrong with the trim of the sails. Most laymen thought of a grav wave as something like a river flowing through hyperspace. It was probably as good an analogy as any, but it was not perfect. For one thing, this river flowed in both directions simultaneously. It was a band of gravitational energy, which under the right circumstances could propel a ship at huge accelerations with no energy cost. Under the wrong circumstances, it could destroy a ship in the blink of an eye.

The Warshawski sails could tap into this gravity river. By setting the sails' "grab factor" the ship could control its acceleration and by angling the sails it could also steer itself. When the "grab factor" was at zero, the energy just flowed through the sails without effect; as the "grab factor" was increased, energy would be transferred to the sail. But like an actual river, the "current" of a grav wave was not equal across its entire width. Parts of it were more energetic than others and along the three hundred kilometer disk of a Warshawski sail, it was possible for there to be drastically different amounts of energy. The sails were supposed to be able to adjust to this automatically, increasing or decreasing the "grab factor" to the different parts of the sail as needed to produce an even acceleration.

But right now it was not working.

The fluctuations in the grav wave were tugging at parts of the sails harder than on others. This tried to twist the ship one way or the other. If not corrected, the ship would be twisted sideways so the sails were edge on to the wave. This not only provided no propulsion, but it exposed the hull of the ship to those same fluctuations in the grav wave. A big enough fluctuation – or a patch of turbulence—would tear the ship to pieces.

"All right, ma'am, we are aligned with the wave's flow and the grab factor is at zero. It seems to be helping, ma'am! There's still some instability, but I think I can keep us steady with the thrusters." The jubilation in the young man's voice made Anny smile.

"Good work, Daniel. Steady as she goes. We'll just wait until Lieutenant VanVeen can come up with some repairs."

Anny turned away from the helm and clasped her hands together behind her back. The problem with the sail was worrying her but it could not completely crowd out the screaming thought that she was now in command of the ship.

_What do I do? I was scarcely ready to be a first officer. How can I possibly do this?_

The image of Commandant Sylvia Thayer flashed into her mind. _"Ms. Payne, when you are in command, you have to __**command**__!"_

_I've been trained for this. All those months on the Island were preparing me for this moment. Everyone is depending on me – I have to do it!_

She turned back towards Patric.

"Mister McDermott, what other damage have we taken?"

"Nothing major, ma'am," his eyes met hers and she could see the worry in them. Not worry about the ship or himself – worry about her. "We lost the one missile tube forward along with two sensor arrays. The hits we took along the broadsides seem mostly restricted to fuel tanks and other non-critical areas. One of the counter-missile tubes, four point defense laser clusters and a number of sensors are out. Boat Bay One took some damage. And of course, the damage to the after impeller ring – and the Bridge." Patric glanced around the compartment. "We were pretty lucky."

"Lucky," said Anny. She looked to the wrecked command chair and the blood splattered on the deck. She walked over to the Com station and hit a button.

"Sick Bay, this is the Bridge. Report status, please."

"Bridge, this is Assistant Surgeon Mallory," came the reply. "We are working on Commander Brock right now. He's in very serious condition, but we think he'll make it."

"Very good," said Anny. "How about our other casualties?"

"Light, very light. No reported fatalities. About a dozen injuries of various degrees. We were lucky."

"Thank you. Bridge out."

"Well, Mister McDermott, your evaluation has been confirmed: we were lucky." Anny grinned a grim smile. She turned to the Astrogation Station.

"Lieutenant Brown, what is our status?"

"Well, ma'am, we are in the Gamma band with our velocity at point three-two Cee. Our course is one-six-eight by two-two. Our heading is nearly the same and on a baseline with the grav wave as you know."

"Thank you."

"Mister Pickering, anything on sensors?"

"No, ma'am, no contacts. The Warshawski detector reads clear to eighteen light minutes."

"Very well."

Anny glanced around. The people on the bridge seemed to be throwing glances at her when she was not looking their way. _What are they thinking? Do they have any confidence in me? Will they obey my orders?_

"Mister Siganuk, give me the 'all hands' circuit."

"Aye aye, ma'am, circuit open."

"Attention, all hands," said Anny nervously. "This is Commander Payne. We have successfully disengaged from the enemy per Commander Hotchkiss's plan. We believe we have hurt the enemy pretty badly. Well done to all of you. Unfortunately, the destroyer _Meadowbrook_ was lost during the action. Also, Commander Brock has been seriously wounded. I have assumed command of the ship. We are evaluating our damage now. Additional information will be passed along as we have it. Carry on with your duty. Payne out."

_Not very inspiring, I suppose, but it will have to do. _Anny glanced towards Patric and he flashed her a quick 'thumbs up' sign. _At least he wasn't hurt! _Then the com beeped:

"Bridge, this is Lieutenant VanVeen. Commander Payne, are you there?"

"Payne here, What's the situation?"

"Not good, ma'am. We've got a real problem, I think."

"Go on."

"We've lost the converters for Alpha nodes nine and eleven – total loss, I'm afraid. Converter fifteen is damaged, but still functioning. I've reduced power on it to ninety percent and raised the other five to one hundred twenty-five percent. The damaged converter is still overheating badly and the other ones are not handling this too well, either. If we lose that converter, I don't think I can keep the sail up with only the other five. I need to shut down the sail to begin any repairs, ma'am."

"Which we can't do while we are in this grav wave," said Anny. "What about the controls for the sail? Any progress?"

"Well, ma'am," began VanVeen. His voice sounded half-embarrassed and half-worried. "It looks like we didn't do as good a job as we might have on installing this new equipment. When we took the damage, there were several power surges that fried some of our controllers. That should not have happened, ma'am. I'm not sure why it did…

"

"We can worry about who to blame later, Lieutenant, what about the sail controls?"

"The automatic trim controls for the after sail are gone, ma'am, along with both back-ups. We can't repair those either with the sail up."

"So we can't really maneuver. All right then, our only option is to drop out of hyper and make our repairs in N-space."

"Uh, ma'am," the strain in VanVeen's voice was unmistakable, and a stab of fear went through Anny. "I'm afraid we can't do that either. One of the other controllers that got fried was for the hyper generator."

_Oh Sweet Tester!_ One of the worst fears any starfarer had was to be trapped in hyperspace with no way out. Anny could see the stir among the bridge crew.

"There's nothing wrong with the generator itself," added VanVeen hastily. He must have realized what effect his words would have. "It's just the controller. We can replace that, but to do the work and calibrate it – you know what a finicky job that is – will take at least a day or a day and a half. I don't think those converters are going to last that long."

Anny chewed on her lip and nodded, forgetting VanVeen was not there to see the gesture.

"So we've got to get out of this wave."

"Yes, ma'am, I can't see any other option."

"All right, we'll see what we can do."

Anny walked over to the helm and stood behind Ensign Radakovich.

"Lieutenant Brown, will our present course take us clear of the wave anytime soon?"

"No, ma'am, it would be nearly seventy-two hours before we drifted near the edge of the wave, even then it would not take us completely clear for another four days." The quickness of his response showed that he had started working on the problem as soon as he saw where her conversation with VanVeen was heading.

"That's what I thought, thank you." Anny looked down at the young man sitting at the helm station.

"Okay, Daniel, let's see if we can get this thing to maneuver."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Lieutenant Brown, which is the best direction to turn to get clear of the wave quickest?"

"Uh, it's a toss-up, ma'am. We're pretty much smack in the middle of it. One way's as good as another."

"Which way should we turn, Daniel?" asked Anny.

"Uh, left, ma'am! We should go left!"

"All right, left it is. We'll try this a bit at a time. Bring the grab factor up to ten percent and then come left five degrees."

"Aye aye, ma'am. Grab factor at ten percent; coming left five degrees."

Anny watched as the heading indicator swung to the left. As she had been warned, it did not stop at five degrees but swung on by.

"Bring her back," she said softly.

"Aye, ma'am." Radakovich entered the heading again, and the turn slowly came to a halt at nine degrees, then it swung back to the right. It reached five degrees and moved on by. Radakovich immediately reentered the five-degree heading and the turn slowed, stopped at three degrees, and then moved back to the left again. By quickly reentering the command, the helmsman was eventually able to stabilize the ship at a heading of five degrees off the direction of the wave.

But it would not stay there on its own. He had to continually enter and reenter the heading to keep it stable.

"All right, that's not too bad," said Anny. "Your fingers are going to get tired after a while, but we can spell you, Daniel."

"Ma'am at that heading it's still going to take five days to get out of this wave," said Lieutenant Brown.

"I wasn't finished yet, Lieutenant."

"Oh, sorry, ma'am."

"Let's try it at ten degrees, Daniel."

"Aye aye, ma'am." The helmsman typed in the command and the ship turned to the left again. The indicator reached ten degrees and the young man entered the heading command again to try and stop the swing as quickly as he could. Just as he had done before.

But the swing did not stop.

Fifteen, twenty, twenty-five degrees.

"Bring her back!" said Anny.

"I'm trying, ma'am!" cried Radakovich in alarm.

Thirty, thirty-five.

Anny thought she could feel a slight vibration coming through the soles of her feet. The ship was shaking as it turned its broadside to the wave.

"Increase the grab factor! Bring us right!"

"Grab factor at thirty percent! Turning right!"

They were trying to turn right, but the wave kept pushing them left. Forty degrees. Forty-five. _Is it slowing? Yes!_ Slowly, the turning stopped. The ship hung precariously at sixty degrees and then started swinging back to the right. The ship was definitely shaking as tiny variations in the wave buffeted it. Radakovich tried to anticipate and slow the reverse swing, but it went all the way back to a thirty-degree _right_ turn before he could halt it. And then it went left again!

"Stay with it!" commanded Anny.

"Yes, ma'am!"

After ten harrowing minutes, Radakovich had the ship stabilized again – at an angle of five degrees.

Both Anny and Radakovich were breathing hard by the time the ship was stable.

_This isn't going to work! What can I do?_

There was only one thing left that they had not tried and Anny was terrified at the thought of it. But there was nothing else to do…

"Daniel, bring it back to the baseline heading and reduce the grab factor to zero – the same as before."

"Aye, ma'am," he said with a sigh of relief.

Anny walked over to the Engineering station and touched the com button.

"Lieutenant VanVeen, come in please."

"VanVeen here," came the engineer's voice after a moment.

"Lieutenant, I want you to disable the level one safety interlocks on the Warshawski sails and give me manual control."

There was a lengthy silence.

"Are you sure about that, ma'am?"

"Have you been following our activities up here?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Well then, if you have any other suggestions, I'd love to hear them."

"I'm afraid I don't have a one, ma'am. All right, give me a few minutes, VanVeen out."

Anny turned back toward the helm station and she was aware of many sets of eyes focused on her.

"Daniel? Have you ever flown a ship in hyper manually?"

"Ma'am? No, ma'am. I've never even simulated it."

"I have," said Anny Payne. _Yeah, right! You've simulated it twice!_

"Let me have her, Daniel."

"Ma'am?"

"Let me have the helm."

"Yes, ma'am."

Radakovich stood up from his chair and looked on nervously as Anny sat down in it. She looked over the control panel for several minutes. The Peep design was different from what she was used to…

"Uh, Daniel? Where's the switch for the manual controls?"

"Oh! It's on the arm of your chair, ma'am. Right there."

"I see it." Anny pushed the activation switch and was surprised as panels opened up on the arms of the chair. She stared in fascination as two joysticks deployed with a whine of servos. At the same time a new monitor rose up out of the control panel in front of her.

This was not what she had expected.

The monitor, yes. It was showing her a graphic representation of the Warshawski sails and the forces in the grav wave around them. But the joysticks… She had trained on a system with a pair of touchpads that controlled the angle and grab factor to various parts of the sails. She supposed that the joysticks must serve the same function, but how did they work?

They were not active yet, so she took hold of them and experimented. _Let's see, moving the sticks adjust the angle of the sail…This thumb control adjusts the grab factor along the "X" axis and this finger pad does the same in the "Y"…By working them both together I can adjust the grab in every direction. Now what do these other buttons do?_

After a few minutes she thought she had it figured out. It was only then that she noticed that the controls were sticky…

Blood.

There was blood all over her gloves. Blood and med-gel. Michael Brock's blood. It was like she was seeing her hands for the first time. She glanced around at the control panel in front of her and there were bloody fingerprints on it. Anny was shocked: how could she have been walking around all this time with blood all over her hands and not notice it? God! There was blood splattered all the way up to her elbows! It didn't show that distinctly against her black skinsuit but still… Anny swallowed hard.

_No wonder everyone's been staring at me!_

"Could…could someone get me a towel out of the washroom?" she asked faintly.

"Yes, ma'am, right away!" said Daniel Radakovich. He dashed over to the small toilet room that adjoined the bridge.

Anny stared at her gloves – they were crusted with blood.

"Mister McDermott, are we likely to lose pressure on the bridge again?"

"I don't think so, ma'am; the emergency bulkheads are closed, and I already have teams working on the hull breach. If you want to take your gloves off, it should be okay. You might want to keep your helmet on, though. The smell in here isn't too great."

Anny peeled her gloves off and dropped them on the deck. Now she had blood and gel on her skin… Radakovitch came back with the towel and she scrubbed at her hands and then tried to wipe the joysticks off. It got some of it, turning the towel an awful shade of pink, but there was still a lot left

…

"Bridge, this is VanVeen." The com came to life.

"Bridge. Payne here."

"Level one interlocks disengaged. Manual control at your discretion, ma'am."

"Thank you, Lieutenant."

"Good luck – Skipper." Anny started. So did several other people nearby.

"Thank you, Philip," said Anny.

_Well, I guess I can't put this off any longer._

Anny took hold of the joysticks. They were still sticky, but it wasn't too bad. She ran through the control functions in her head again.

She reached out and flicked the switch that shifted from automatic to manual control. A number of lights changed on the control panel, and the new display flowed with data. Then she grasped the joysticks…

…and almost wrecked the ship.

She had scarcely touched the controls when the ship lurched sharply to the left. Daniel Radakovich was standing next to her and he was thrown to the deck with a yelp. Other people cried out in alarm, too.

Anny tried to correct and the ship jerked the other way.

_Tester! This is sensitive!_

The ships swung wildly back and forth for a few moments before Anny was able to stabilize it.

"Sorry about that, folks," she gasped. "This is harder than it looks."

"Are you all right?" exclaimed Patric.

"I think so. Mister Siganuk, could you sound the acceleration alarm and tell anyone not doing emergency work to strap themselves in? This may get a little rough."

"Aye aye, ma'am."

Anny waited a few minutes to let people heed the warning.

"All right, let's try that again. Turning to port."

Ever so gently she moved the joysticks to angle the sails and bring the ship left. She brought it to ten degrees smoothly enough, but then had trouble holding it. She kept looking around the display trying to see where all the grav forces were and correct the grab of the sail to counter them. It was hard. Very hard. Two huge disks where the forces could be different in a dozen different places at the same time, and she had to take it all in at a glance. The ship lurched and shuddered as she tried to correct. After a few minutes she went left to twenty degrees. It was even harder here. The further she got away from flat on to the grav wave, the more it tried to twist the ship around broadside.

"Mister Brown, at this heading how long?"

"About nine hours, ma'am. Maybe a bit longer."

"Too long. Coming left to thirty degrees."

She nearly lost it and the ship veered all the way to forty-five degrees before she could recover. Eventually, she was holding at thirty degrees. _I can't take it any further than this!_

"How long now?"

"About six hours, ma'am. I'm sorry."

"Not your fault. Okay, we'll hold it here for a while."

But just holding it there was not easy. It would pull one way and then the other. Up, down, right left. Combinations all at once. Anny's hands began to cramp on the joysticks and her vision blurred as she tried to make sense of the display. Time passed. Every hour or so she would glance at the time readout to see that another two or three minutes had gone by. But with each passing minute she got a slightly better feel for the ship. She began to see rhythms in the grav forces and she could anticipate some of the corrections she would have to make. A little bit of confidence began to grow in her. Every minute of acceleration on their new heading was adding to a vector that would take them clear of the wave.

_This isn't that bad. Maybe if I can put it back on the base course every so often and take a rest, I can…_

Without any warning at all, the ship was broadside on to the grav wave.

Anny was rattled in her chair as she tried to figure out what had happened. The ship was shaking worse than ever and the people on the bridge were shouting.

_What did I do wrong!? Oh God, the after sail is collapsing!_

"Engineering! What's happening?" she shouted. Philip VanVeen's voice came back over the com. It was scarcely audible because of the noise both on the bridge and in engineering.

"The converter blew! We're losing the sail!"

"Increase power to the others!"

"I don't think they can take it!"

"If we don't get this sail back, it won't make any difference! Now do it!"

There was no answer.

For a few terrifying seconds Anny sat there and felt the ship starting to shake itself apart. The vibrations were worse than ever. Different parts of the hull were being subjected to twenty or thirty gees of shear force. They could not stand that for very long. And if even the tiniest patch of turbulence came along…

But then her display changed. The after sail was coming back up, strengthening. It did not come back to full power, but it would do. Now, somehow, she had to bring the ship around. She moved the joysticks a little and nothing happened. She moved them more and the ship jerked sharply, but stayed broadside on to the wave. More – and still nothing. Finally, she had them all the way over.

_Come on turn, damn you!_

The ship turned. Just a bit, but it turned. Then a bit more. _Yes! She's coming around!_

Bit by bit. Degree by agonizing degree, _Coeur de Lion_ turned her herself away from destruction. Anny's hands were like two claws on the joysticks as she willed her ship to come about. The vibrations grew less and less. Anny began to gasp for the breath she'd been holding.

Once the ship was past forty-five degrees it got easier. Anny brought her all the way back to the base line course and switched back to the automatic controls.

"Mister Radakovich, take over for a minute, will you?"

The helmsman picked himself up off the deck and took Anny's place at the helm. Anny staggered away a few steps. Patric was out of his chair in an instant to steady her.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"Help…help me take off my helmet." Anny's hands were shaking so badly she couldn't do it herself.

He unlatched the helmet and lifted it over her head. She was dripping with sweat and gasping.

"Sweet Tester, that was close." She wiped the sweat off her forehead and then looked at her hand. She dimly realized that she had probably just smeared blood all over her face.

"Bridge! This is VanVeen! Commander Payne, are you there?" The com was demanding her attention.

"Payne here," she whispered.

"Commander, I've got the five remaining converters running at a hundred and thirty-five percent of maximum just to keep the sail up. They're not going to last long like that. We have got to get out of this wave!"

"I know. Give me minute and we'll try it again."

"Anny, you need to rest a bit," hissed Patric.

"No time."

She turned back toward the helm station and stopped. Her hands began to shake again. _I can't do it!_ She looked at the time and realized it would be another five hours yet. She was completely spent and she had only been at it for an hour. _I can't do it! I'll make some mistake and kill everyone. I can't…_

_Yes you can. You can do it, Anny. _There was a voice in her head urging her on. It was Helen's voice! _You can do it. You're the best damn pilot on this island! You can do it. Now go ahead!_

"You can do it, Anny." She looked up and saw Patric next to her. He smiled at her.

"You can do it, I know you can."

Anny smiled a shaky smile back at him, and nodded her head.

"Daniel, let me have it."

She exchanged places with the helmsman again and grasped the joysticks.

"All right, switch me over." Radakovich hit the button that activated the manual controls and then stepped back.

"Turning to port," said Anny.

It was a little easier this time. She knew the controls better, had more experience with the wave. The after sail was not quite as responsive as before, but she learned to adjust. She brought the ship left thirty degrees and then held it there. It fought her, but she fought back and held it.

Minutes passed. She encountered new variations in the wave that rattled the ship, but she adjusted to it. Her hands began to cramp again, but she ignored it. Her long, slender fingers moved the joysticks with infinite care.

As the minutes became hours, Anny was completely absorbed into the task. She stared with unblinking eyes at the display in front of her, seeing every bit of it while focusing on nothing. The information seemed to flow directly through her eyes and down to her fingers. And it was almost like her fingers were touching the sails, shaping them, turning them, guiding them. Back at Saganami Island she had often felt like she was a part of her Javelin trainer aircraft, but it had never felt like this.

She turned the ship more to the left. Thirty-five degrees, forty, forty-five. It was harder, but she handled it. The wave tried to destroy them, but she would not let it.

Hours went by and she kept at it. Patric whispered to her that she should take a break, but she just shook her head. Lieutenant VanVeen called periodically with pessimistic reports on the converter status. She scarcely heard. She was entirely focused on flying her ship. After a while there was nothing else. Just her, and the ship, and that damn wave.

From time to time someone dabbed a towel to her head to mop away the sweat. Someone else put a water bottle with a tube to her mouth and she sucked and swallowedmechanically. She felt Patric's gentle hands massaging her aching shoulders, but it was all distant and unreal. The only reality was the monitor in front of her and her hands on the joysticks.

After several lifetimes, she dimly heard someone talking excitedly about spotting the edge of the wave. But that wasn't possible, was it? The wave went on forever and ever. She had been flying through it since the beginning of time and always would be. But the voice was joined by others who insisted it was true. A tiny part of her told her to turn back. Turn back into the wave, keep flying her ship. But she ignored that, too.

New variations in the wave confronted her, and she adjusted. Patches of turbulence appeared, but she steered around them. But suddenly something new was happening. The sails! They weren't responding! What was wrong? The sail controls were completely dead…

Anny looked up.

There were a dozen people standing around her. All of them were staring at her. Smiles were on every face and a few eyes seemed to be glistening with tears.

"You did it, Anny."

Patric was there beside her. He gently pried her hands off the joysticks and began to rub them. It hurt.

"You did it, ma'am!" exclaimed Daniel Radakovitch. That seemed to break the spell that was holding all of them. The others began to speak excitedly, congratulating her. She just stared at them.

"Someone call engineering and tell Mister VanVeen he can bring down the sails and rig the impeller wedge," she said after a few moments.

"Already done, Skipper!" came VanVeen's voice over the com.

"Commander?" said Lieutenant Brown, the Astrogator. He was staring at her, wide-eyed. "You know what you just did was impossible, don't you? I mean there was no chance! We were all dead! If I hadn't been here to see it myself and someone tried to tell me about it, I'd call them a liar! Can… can I shake your hand, Skipper?" He held out his hand and she took it limply in hers. Then she had to shake everyone else's hands as well.

Anny was still in a bit of a daze. "Uh, well, the next thing to do is to get full reports on our damage and…"

"The next thing to do," interrupted Patric, "is to get you down to your cabin so you can rest."

"He's right, ma'am," said Pickering. "We can keep things running up here for a while. Not to have a mutiny or anything, but you have got to rest." He just shook his head and smiled at her.

"All…all right, I guess I am a little tired. Call your watch replacements. Set a standard watch on the Warshawski…"

"We know what to do, ma'am. Don't worry."

Patric helped her up out of her chair. She didn't resist as he led her off the bridge and down to "C" deck. The marine sentry at the entrance to Ladies' Country snapped to attention as they approached. He did not challenge Patric as he half-carried Anny to her quarters.

"Do you need any help, Anny? I could come in…"

"No, thank you, Patric. I think I'll be okay. I just need to get cleaned up and then sleep for a little while."

Patric smiled at her. "Okay, Skipper. That was a great job."

"See you later."

Anny slowly walked into her cabin and shut the hatch behind her. She went into the head and tried to strip off her skinsuit. Her hands started to shake again and she could hardly make them work. She gave up on that and went over to the lavatory. Her hands still had dried blood and crusted med-gel on them and she started washing them. She ran her hands up the arms of her skinsuit to try and get the blood off that, too. She looked in the mirror and there were a few pink spots on her forehead. Her whole body was shaking now. She looked down into the basin at the pink water swirling down the drain…

Suddenly, she was on her knees by the toilet, vomiting her guts out.

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

"**S**o that's it?" asked Brevet Lieutenant Commander Andreanne Payne.

"I'm afraid so, ma'am," said Philip VanVeen. "We've lost three converters from the after Alpha ring. They are all beyond repair. The five remaining converters have been badly stressed by what we had to put them through. Frankly, I don't know how they lasted as long as they did."

"Then we can't use the Warshawski sails again."

"No, ma'am. We might be able to raise them, but they wouldn't last long. An hour or two at most, and there probably would be no warning before the next converter blew – and there is no way I can keep the sail up with only four of them."

"So we can't use the grav waves," said Anny. She glanced around the conference room. All the department heads were there plus a few other critical people. What they had to tell her was not good. Getting out of the grav wave had bought them some time, but they were not out of trouble yet.

"And Lieutenant Brown, you are telling me we can't reach Holiway under the impeller drive?"

"Not with the fuel we have left, no, ma'am."

Anny looked at Patric. "How did we lose so much?"

"It was partly bad luck and partly the way the ship is designed, ma'am," said Patric. "The ship does not carry a lot of armor, as you know. The designers supplemented the armor by placing the fuel tanks over vital areas. Liquid hydrogen can soak up an awful lot of energy, so it's an effective method. It probably explains how we got by with so little critical damage. When we traded fire with the Peeps, we were moving so fast that their lasers just sliced down the hull, opening up the tanks instead of penetrating very far. I think the shot that got all the way through to the bridge must have been a graser."

"And we only have twenty-two percent left?"

"Yes, ma'am. The tanks are heavily subdivided, but the enemy fire still got a lot of them. Then when we lost the converter in the grav wave, the pounding we took ruptured quite a few more. I'm sorry, ma'am, but there it is."

"I see. Lieutenant VanVeen, how are the repairs on the hyper generator coming?"

"It will be another sixteen hours, I think, ma'am, but we should have it operational with no problems."

"Very well, and the other repairs are proceeding?"

"Yes, ma'am," answered both Patric and VanVeen.

"So it comes down to a question of: where do we go from here?" said Anny.

"Could we go back to Boetia?" asked Lieutenant Yarnell.

"No, I'm afraid not," said Lieutenant Brown. "Boetia is one of those systems that is surrounded by grav waves. Without the sails we couldn't get closer than half a light year before we had to drop out of hyper."

"And Boetia is not a good choice in any case," said Anny. "Commander Brock believed that the Peep ships we encountered may have tracked us from there. If that is the case, Boetia could well be back in Peep hands."

"Forgive me if this is a stupid question," said Doctor Lewis. "I'm afraid I'm not much on navigation, but can't we just build up a vector toward Holiway and then coast?"

"No, sir," said Brown. "The grav waves are pretty numerous in this region. We would have to maneuver around several of them just to get to Holiway. There is no straight route from here. Also, we have to keep the impellers hot at all times in case we encounter turbulence. Unfortunately, that means keeping the reactors running and that takes fuel. Even taking the most efficient course I can come up with, we would still run dry about six light years short of Holiway."

Anny nodded her head. The fusion reactors of a starship used powerful artificial gravity to create the conditions for fusion to occur. It could produce the enormous energy needed to run ship systems like the impellers, but it also took a large amount just to keep the reactors running. Even just "idling" the reactors used many tons of hydrogen each day. In a grav wave, using the Warshawski sails, a ship could actually draw the power it needed from the wave – but that option was no longer available to them.

"What if we went into the upper hyper bands, Lieutenant? Once the hyper generator is repaired, that should save us some time." This question came from Lieutenant Terrance Daley. Daley was a junior tactical officer from one of the other ships in the Task Group. He had been assigned as the second officer of _Coeur de Lion. _Anny had rarely seen him up until now because he was on the opposite watch schedule from her. Now, however, he was theoretically second in command of the ship. Anny had not rearranged any of the assignments yet, but Daley would seem the likely one to become the first officer, even though several others were senior to him. For that matter, a number of officers were senior to Anny…

"I'm afraid not, sir," said Brown. He was clearly getting a little uncomfortable having to repeatedly explain why he could not get them to Holiway. "As I'm sure you know, the grav waves crowd closer together in the upper bands. By the time we get above the Delta band, we have to detour so far to get around the waves that we actually end up losing time."

Unfortunately that was true. For reasons no one really understood, each hyper band was progressively "smaller" than the one below it. This is what made hyper travel worthwhile: distances traveled there "counted" for more and made interstellar travel possible. But for some reason, the grav waves did not shrink in the same proportion as the rest of the band. What might be a comfortably wide rift in the Gamma band would shrink to nothing by the time you got to the Zeta band. Up in the Theta band, the waves were virtually touching – which produced some dangerous turbulence. One theory held that in the Iota band, the waves actually started to overlap. The turbulence _that_ would produce might explain why no ship had ever returned from the Iota band.

"All right," said Anny. "It seems clear we cannot reach Holiway as we intended. Where _can_ we get to?"

"Well, ma'am," said Brown. "There are a lot of star systems we can reach easily enough. It sort of depends on what you are looking for. Here, let me show you."

Brown turned on the holo-display and a star map of the vicinity blinked into existence in front of the assembled officers.

"We are here, right now." A bright gold speck appeared. "The vector we built up to get clear of the grav wave is actually carrying us off toward Peep space." Brown blushed slightly. "I'm sorry, Skipper, I should not have told you that any direction would do to get out of the wave. If we had gone up and to the right instead of left, it probably would have been better."

Anny smiled. "Don't worry about it, Mister Brown. We all had a few other things on our minds just then. Even if we had gone the other direction, it still would not get us to Holiway. And I felt quite comfortable turning to the left, now that I think on it."

"Yes, ma'am, thank you, ma'am." Brown gave her a look of gratitude and then turned back to the star map. "As I said, we are here. There are several thousand star systems within reach given our fuel limitations. A few of them are inhabited, most are not. None of the inhabited ones are in Alliance hands as far as we know."

Anny stared at the map in hopes that some inspiration might strike her but nothing came. She was still very tired. They had let her sleep for nearly eight hours, but she was a bit groggy and her arms and hands were sore. Doctor Lewis had given her something for it, but she still did not feel too well.

"Let's consider our options," she said. "One, we can null out our vector and remain in this vicinity. The other ships of the convoy will reach Holiway eventually. Two or three weeks depending on whether _Luneville_ and _Trevose_ proceed there at maximum speed or if they pick up any of the merchant ships and escort them. It would probably be another week before they would consider us as overdue. Allowing for the length of time needed to put together a search force and get back here, we are looking at two months or more. I have no doubt that they _will_ search for us, but what are the chances of finding us?"

"Not good, ma'am," said Brown, unhappy he had to be the nay-sayer again. "The destroyers know where we left the Delta band, and the fact that we never showed at Holiway might tell them that we had sail trouble and had to proceed with impellers. But that's an awful lot of space out there. We left the wave by a random vector and we are nearly a light year from the battle site. Even if they expected us to stay put, the chances of them finding us are pretty slim."

"Plus, they don't even know what hyper band – or microband - to search in," added Lieutenant Pickering. "An impeller wedge does not show up at nearly the range as a sail. Spotting us would be hard unless they dropped in right on top of us by luck."

I don't think we can afford to count on luck," said Anny. "Just for the record, Commander Tropio, how long can we stick around out here?"

Christine Tropio looked at her friend. "Our environmental plant is fine, Skipper. As far as fresh air, water, and recyclables, we can stay out here as long as we have power. Provisions are pretty good, too. With the small crew we are carrying, we have at least eight months. We could stretch that out to ten or twelve if you wanted to start rationing. And we do have the standard emergency hydroponics packages. If you wanted to set up some farms in those empty fuel tanks, we could feed ourselves indefinitely – or at least until the power ran out."

"All right. We could wait out here and hope someone finds us. I don't think that's a good option. The chances are small and by the time they even start looking for us our fuel reserves will have shrunk to the point that we couldn't get anywhere else."

Anny looked around the table. No one seemed to disagree with her.

"Option two, is to head for an uninhabited star system. We could find a gas giant, or even an icy asteroid or comet and extract the hydrogen we need to replenish our fuel. Comments?"

"Well, that is an option, Skipper," said VanVeen. "But it would probably take a hell of a long time. I think we can rule out the gas giants: we took too much hull damage to try skimming the atmosphere for hydrogen. One of the pinnaces took damage, too. I don't know if it would be up for something like that either. Even if we got both of them working, they can't scoop up more than a few tons on each trip. The ice comet is a better approach. We would have to build electrolysis plants and then power them to break down the water into hydrogen."

"So what's the problem with that?" asked Daley.

"Nothing, Lieutenant," answered VanVeen. "If you are willing to spend the time. The problem is powering the electrolysis plants. If we use the ship's reactors, we have plenty of power and can produce the hydrogen fairly quickly, but then we have the reactor's overhead to consider. With the number of plants I think we could construct, we'd not do much better than break even. If we don't use the reactor, then we are limited to solar panels and the smaller fusion plants on the pinnaces. That will limit us to twenty or thirty tons a day."

"Which would take how long to get enough fuel to reach Holiway?" asked Anny.

"That's the other problem, Skipper. We're talking pure hydrogen fuel here. That is not nearly as efficient as the Deuterium-Boron mix we like to use. It will work, but not nearly as well. I figure we would need almost a full load. We might be looking at eight to ten months to fill the tanks."

"Which we could do, if we have to. All right, let's keep that option open. Option three is to head for one of those inhabited systems. From what we have seen, the Peep presence is pretty thin around here. If we could find someplace with a fuel facility we might be able to refuel and get to Holiway with no fuss. Even if they could not refuel us, extracting our own fuel is still an option and having a habitable planet close by would be a nice insurance policy. Finally, the chances of being found by another Alliance ship increases dramatically if we go to one of these systems. They might well expect us to do that and look there first. In any case, Operation Anaconda is scheduled to hit these systems eventually."

"What if we get there and there is a Peep garrison?" asked Pickering.

"Well, we'd have to come out of hyper at a good distance and give the place a looking over before we went barging in, anyway," said Anny. "If there are Peeps there, we could just go ahead and find a comet way outsystem and set up our extraction facility. They'd never spot us."

"I like it, Skipper," said VanVeen. "It gives us the most options. If there are Peeps present, we could even fill up the tanks enough to get to some other system and try again, if we had to."

Anny nodded her head. She had favored this option herself before the meeting even started. This was not exactly a council of war she was holding, but she needed the input and support of her officers if she was going to make this work.

"All right, if there are no objections, I think we will go with option three. Mister Brown, I want a report, as soon as possible, on everything we know about the systems within our range. I know it won't be much, but if there is anything at all that might point us in the right direction I want to know about it. As for the rest of us, we will continue with the repairs. The crew is probably worried. Father O'Neil," Anny nodded at the ship's chaplain, "Try to reassure them, and we'll keep them too busy worry much."

Anny sighed and then continued. "I want to thank you for all your hard work and…"

"Lieutenant Payne, a moment."

Anny looked up and met the gaze of Lieutenant Terrance Daley.

"Yes?"

"I think we need to discuss the issue of command." He said it quietly, but there was an edge to his voice. His eyes stared into hers without flinching and a shudder went through her.

"What do you mean, Lieutenant?" She was afraid she knew exactly what he meant.

"I mean we need to discuss who is going to be in command of this ship."

"Lieutenant Daley, Commander Payne is in command of this ship," said Philip VanVeen. There was an edge in his voice, too.

"Lieutenant Payne's rank as a lieutenant commander is only a brevet," said Daley. "There are a number of officers aboard with permanent ranks that are senior to her."

"Including me, Lieutenant!" said Chris Tropio. "In fact, I believe you will find that I am the senior officer aboard. Are you suggesting that I assume command?"

Daley was startled and for the first time seemed unsure of himself.

"Uh, I was not suggesting that, Commander. You are not…uh, … you don't have any…uh,… command experience."

"What you really mean is I don't have a "Y" chromosome! And I'm missing a few other gross anatomical features, too. So is Commander Payne, but she _is_ the commander of this ship!"

Everyone around the table was silent for a moment. The Graysons, in particular, seemed embarrassed by Tropio's outburst. But Anny looked at her gratefully.

"Lieutenant Daley," said Brown. "Captain Christopher and Admiral Newsum made Commander Payne the second in command of this ship after Commander Brock. Commander Brock can no longer command, so command automatically falls to Commander Payne."

"Those are the regulations, I admit that," said Daley regaining his composure. "But I'm sure the Captain and the Admiral never imagined that Commander Brock would be injured. I cannot believe they would approve of a…of an inexperienced officer taking command under these circumstances. Lieutenant Payne has never commanded a ship before, certainly not one in as desperate a situation as this one. I have real doubts if she's capable."

"You wouldn't if you had been on the bridge with us yesterday!" said Lieutenant Pickering angrily. "She saved all of our lives – including yours!" There was a mutter of agreement from around the table.

"I have no doubt, Lieutenant Payne is a capable pilot, and I would have no problem with her functioning as the helmsman…,"

"_Commander_ Payne is the rightful captain of this ship," said Patric. He said it quietly, but there was a note of menace in his voice.

Daley was not intimidated. He glanced between Patric and VanVeen and Tropio. "This ship is in the Grayson Space Navy. I am not sure that _Manticorans_ should have any say in who is to command it."

"Lieutenant, you are out of line!" said Lieutenant Brown.

"I don't think so," said Daley. He met the angry faces around the table with a steady eye.

"What do you others think? Father O'Neil? Lieutenant Yarnell? How about you, Lieutenant Hickman?" His last remark was directed toward the commander of _Coeur de_ _Lion's_ small marine detachment.

Before there could be any response, Anny stood up.

"We are not taking a vote here." Her voice was as steady and sure as she could make it. "This is not a matter for debate. Captain Christopher made me the first officer of this vessel. Commander Brock can no longer command. That makes me the ship's captain. You will carry out the orders I have given you."

Anny swept her gaze around the room. There were nods and quiet "Aye aye, ma'am's from some of them. Others looked away, and a few met her with unfriendly expressions. _Who can I count on? It doesn't matter Ms. Payne! You're in command - so command!_

"Commander Brock's last order to me was to get us home. And by God, that's exactly what I'm going to do."

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

"**W**ell I'll be damned!" said Lieutenant (j.g.) Alby Hinsworth. He stared at his computer monitor in surprise, and more than a little bit of delight. After a moment, he hit the intercom button on his desk.

"Dougherty here."

"Tina, did you send me this new log?" asked Alby.

"Yes, sir. I thought you might want to handle this one personally," said Tina Dougherty.

"Indeed I do! Thank you, Tina, that was very thoughtful of you."

"No problem, sir. Have fun."

Alby broke the connection and shook his head. _I wish she would knock of this 'sir' nonsense! I know I'm her boss now, but that shouldn't mean we can't be friends._

Alby sighed. He had tried to pull some strings and get Tina promoted to lieutenant junior grade and it had backfired. She was promoted all right, but she was now working for him.He had his own unit within the department they had both been working for. Tina was one of six junior officers nominally under his command. It was only one of several big changes in his life.

The biggest one, of course, was his new role as heir to the Dukedom of Somerton. He was finding it to be far more demanding than he had imagined. There seemed to be an endless string of ceremonies and social functions he was expected to attend. He had gotten a taste of it when he was younger, accompanying his parents to some of them, but it had been nothing like this. He found himself spending more and more time in his office, using his work as an excuse to beg off from the other obligations.

It was not all bad, of course. Alby had been raised in the aristocracy and knew that this sort of thing was part of it. He could mingle and socialize with the best of them when he put his mind to it. And there certainly were a lot of pretty girls at those parties…

In fact, he had a major function to attend that night with his parents. He did not particularly want to go, but it was important to his father. His father had been doing pretty well in the last few weeks. Alby suspected that his grandfather had underrated his father's abilities a bit. Still, it had been difficult, and Alby's mother urged him to support his father as much as he could.

He shook his head and turned back to the computer file that Tina had sent him. His new unit was engaged in a project for Naval Intelligence that was potentially very useful. They were taking the ships' logs from every enemy ship the Alliance had captured or been able to salvage during the War and analyzing them for certain information. Specifically, they were looking for when and where the ships had received refits or any sort of equipment upgrades. The hope was that they would be able to establish patterns that would let then know when to expect future upgrades to units still in operation. It might also give them insights into general readiness levels within the Peep Navy. They were not just looking at the war years, but they were taking the logs as far back as they would go. It could be tedious work, but it was far more interesting than the earlier projects Alby had worked on.

And Alby had always had ways of making his work more entertaining.

A ship's log was mostly just a long series of rather dull entries recording the day-to-day activities of the ship. But in the lifetime of almost any ship, there were some interesting incidents. If not battles, then court martials, disciplinary hearings, or a host of other potentially amusing events – or at least amusing to someone with Alby's slightly twisted sense of humor. Alby, with his usual computer skills, had set up search algorithms to find the information that ONI wanted quickly, but it also allowed him to find those other things. He had accumulated quite a collection of funny, sometimes hilarious, incidents that had occurred in the People's Navy over the last fifty years. He sometimes thought he should compile them in a book and publish them. And of course, some ships did get into important battles or become involved with important commanders, and it was interesting to read about that, too.

Tina Dougherty had just sent him another log book, but this was different from any he had looked at before. This one was special:

_Ship's Log_

_PNS Sword_

_CA-326_

It was the log book from the ship he and Anny and Patric and Helen had fought and captured on their 'prentice cruise. Alby closed his eyes. He was proud of his actions during that fight, modest as they were. He had done his duty and controlled his fears. He had been scared – terrified, really – but he had done his job.

And just a bit more.

He had volunteered to repair a critical sensor array and give his ship its eyes back. It was a pretty simple repair, but it required Alby to worm his way through a tiny space in the wreckage to get to the critical junction box. Alby had never liked enclosed spaces to begin with, but it was dark, and he was in vacuum, and there were sharp bits of metal all around.

He had done it. He had gone in there and made the repair. In the long run, it probably had not mattered much in the course of the battle, but it made him feel good – even though he still had nightmares about it. He had gotten stuck after finishing the repair and he had to wait four long hours before the others could cut him free. During the wait, Alby's fears had time to work on him. The darkness in the corners his helmet light could not reach. The shadows. That one shadow that almost looked like somebody's hand…

Alby shuddered and opened his eyes.

_Well, it's long over with. Both _Sword_ and _Relentless_ have been cut up into scrap by now._

It was nice of Tina to send this log his way. He was rather touched that she realized its significance to him. Alby set his computer programs to work on the log book and then sat back to see what they would find.

An hour later, he was chuckling over a lengthy disciplinary report about an elaborate gambling and distilling ring that had been discovered on _Sword_ several years before the start of the War. Alby found that the peacetime navy tended to have more of this sort of thing. _Everyone gets so darn serious when the shooting starts._

He finished reading that and then flipped to the next item his search engine had found.

And stopped.

"Well, I'll be damned!" whistled Alby.

_Thomas Theisman! He actually commanded _Sword_ for a few years! How about that?_

Theisman was now the Peep's most famous fleet commander. He had had a checkered and eventful career. Currently he was on top of the heap, but with the way Peep politics worked, who knew how long he would stay there?

Alby now went directly to the log records rather than rely on his search engine. He wanted to see just what Theisman had done while on _Sword_. Several hours went by and he was deep into it. It seemed that _Sword's_ former captain had been somehow implicated in the earlier gambling ring and cashiered. Alby could not be sure, but it almost seemed like some sort of frame-up for political reasons. In any case, Theisman had been put in command.

He skimmed over several uneventful years of log entries that took him almost to the start of the war. Then there was something interesting: _Sword_ was made the flagship of a heavy cruiser squadron commanded by a Commodore Annette Reichman. Alby had not heard of her. _Probably purged with most of the other flag officers after Pierre staged his coup._ Alby chuckled over a couple of log entries that had been worded in such a way that made it obvious Theisman and Reichman did not get along.

Alby checked his chrono. It was nearly quitting time already. He had to get ready for the reception tonight so he could only spend a little while longer on this today. But it was pretty interesting stuff. _I can take this up again in the morning…_

Then something caught Alby's attention: The squadron was issued top priority – and secret – orders. Certain "eyes only" naval intelligence documents not contained in the log were referred to. The squadron set out from its base and headed for Alliance space…

Alby's eyes widened.

"Well, I'll be _damned!_" he whispered.

[Scene Break]

Vice Admiral Sylvia Thayer, Commandant of the Royal Manticoran Naval Academy, checked her chrono and sighed. It was nearly dinner time, but she was still struggling with her quarterly reports. It would probably be another late night.

Her intercom buzzed.

"Yes?"

"Admiral, I have a call from a Lieutenant Albustus Hinsworth for you. I know you are busy, do you want to take the call?"

"Alby Hinsworth, calling _me_?" asked Thayer incredulously.

"Yes, Admiral," chuckled Thayer's secretary. Gwen remembered Alby, too.

Thayer really was busy, but her curiosity was piqued. Anything that young rapscallion wanted would _have_ to be more interesting than the quarterly reports!

"All right, put him through."

A moment later, her screen lit up and she was facing the young man that she had so often faced across this very desk. Hinsworth had been a terrible disciplinary problem and Thayer had seen him far more often than she would have liked. The image on her screen showed a slightly older version of the young man she remembered last seeing on the _Hephaestus_ space station. _Actually, I guess I did see him on some of the newscasts after his grandfather died._ Hinsworth still had that same shock of red hair, but the freckles seemed fewer and his face had definitely matured. Thayer noticed the collar pips of a junior grade lieutenant. _Admiral Givens' influence no doubt._

"Mister Hinsworth, this is quite a surprise. To what do I owe this honor?"

"Hello, Admiral. It's nice to see you again. I'm sorry to disturb you, but I've come across something very interesting here."

"Interesting? Since when does Naval Intelligence share its findings with the commandant of the Naval Academy?" In spite of her flippant tone, Thayer was intrigued.

Hinsworth laughed nervously. "Well, Admiral, it's not really something that NavInt is going to care about, but it concerns Helen Zilwicki."

Now Thayer really was interested. What could Hinsworth possibly know about Helen? A dozen chilling possibilities went through Thayer about things that might have happened to her, but she instantly ruled them out – Hinsworth would not be chuckling if it was something bad. And surely she would have heard sooner from some other source than him!

"About Helen? What about Helen?"

"Well, it's not really about Helen, ma'am. But it does concern her – and her father. It's something that could kind of upset them. I know you are a friend of the family and I thought maybe you could advise me on how best to proceed."

"Well, I guess you better tell me what it is first…" Thayer suddenly had a tickle in the back of her head. It was like being on patrol and picking up a faint sensor contact…

"Of course, ma'am. Well, you see my unit is analyzing old Peep log books and I came across an entry from the log book of that Peep cruiser we captured…"

"The _Sword_?" Thayer's eyes darted to the builder's plaque hanging on the wall of her office. The contact was getting stronger…

"Yes, ma'am, that's the one. Well, it seems that a few years before the war its captain was Thomas Theisman."

"That _is_ interesting, Mister Hinsworth, but how does that affect Helen?"

"Well, I'm getting to that, ma'am. Just before the start of the war, _Sword_ was the flagship of a heavy cruiser squadron under a Commodore Reichman. According to this log book, it was that squadron that attacked Convoy MG-19."

A red mist seemed to cover Thayer's vision and every part of her body tensed. Her eyes were drawn to the wall of her office. The builder's plaque was hanging there. Directly above it was the portrait of Captain Helen Loehlin-Zilwicki – the commander of Convoy MG-19. Helen Zilwicki's mother. Anton Zilwicki's wife and the best friend Sylvia Thayer had ever had.

Thayer's hands began to shake. A long suppressed rage began to build inside of her. Hinsworth was still talking…

"I've done a little research, and every other ship in that squadron has been destroyed in the war. _Sword_ was the last one. I thought it's something Helen would want to know – seeing as how she's the one who wrecked _Sword_ – but it could be a pretty painful subject, too. I thought maybe you would…Admiral? Admiral? Are you all right…?"

Thayer's hand moved of its own accord and cut the connection.

She sat there, her whole body quivering. Years ago, Sylvia Thayer thought she had conquered the terrible hatred she had held for the Peeps who killed her friend. She thought she had mastered it; set it aside; buried it.

She _had_ buried it. But not forever.

Now the years of denied anger, the anger she had hidden for the sake of her goddaughter, came boiling to the surface.

She stared at the Peep builder's plaque. They were the ones who had murdered Helen! Suddenly to have it hanging there, on the same wall with the portrait of her friend, seemed the greatest blasphemy imaginable. It was obscene!

Thayer rose out of her chair. She came around her desk with her eyes fixed on the murderous piece of bronze. She grabbed at it, but it was not just hanging from a hook, it had been screwed into the wood paneling. Her fingers clawed to find a hold on the edge, breaking nails and tearing skin. Somehow she got an edge away from the wall and got a grip on it. She pulled, but it did not come loose. She put her foot against the wall and heaved with all her strength.

"Damn you! Damn you! _Damn you!"_

An animal roar came from her throat as the plaque tore loose from the wall with a rip of splintering wood. Thayer nearly fell over backwards and bumped into a display case. She raised the plaque over her head to hurl it away from her, but even in her rage, a part of her did not want to damage any of the other artifacts in the office. She turned one way and then another to find a clear spot to throw it…

"Admiral!"

"Admiral, what's wrong!?"

The door opened behind her and she heard the voices of her secretary and her adjutant.

Thayer froze.

She slowly lowered the plaque until she was holding it in front of her. Then she turned around. Gwen and Commander Christopher Semancik were standing in the doorway with looks of shock on their faces.

"Admiral…"

Thayer walked over to Semancik and held out the plaque to him.

"Commander, please take this. Give it to the Academy Museum curator and tell her to do whatever she thinks best with it." Thayer's voice was mechanical and totally devoid of expression. Semancik took the plaque with a look of bewilderment.

"Gwen, please contact Maintenance and have them repair the damage to the wall. Tomorrow would be fine. Now, hold all my calls, I don't want to be disturbed."

"Ur, yes, Admiral," said Gwen. She withdrew a step or two, but her eyes never left Thayer.

"Admiral, are you all right?" asked Semancik.

"Yes. Fine. Now if you'll please excuse me."

Thayer practically closed the door in their faces. She locked it and then slowly returned to her desk. She sat down and activated the privacy field. She closed her eyes and clenched her fists on the desktop. After a few moments, she became aware of a burning on her hands and opened her eyes again.

Her hands were bloody.

She held them up and looked at them. She had torn all the skin off her knuckles getting the plaque loose and they were bleeding freely. Drops of blood fell on the polished wood of her desk.

She didn't care.

Thayer looked at the ragged scar on her wall and her eyes drifted up to Helen's portrait.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"They killed you and I wasn't there. I'm sorry."

"I loved you, Helen. I loved you more than anyone I've ever know. And then they killed you and I wasn't there."

Tears filled Thayer's eyes. She clenched her fists again and put her head down on her desk and sobbed.

She had buried her hatred, buried it deep, but it was still there.

She had buried her grief just as deeply.

It was still there, too.

Forty-six years earlier a terrified young girl had first set foot on Saganami Island. She was the daughter of a pair of Navy ratings. She had beaten the odds and made it into the exclusive Academy. Now she was faced with a world full of glittering officers and stuffy aristocrats where even the commoners came from levels of society far loftier than hers. She had kept to herself, as she had always done, and tried to do the best she could.

Then one day she met a man down by Kreskin Field. He was a veteran petty officer who seemed old as the hills to young Sylvia Thayer. Jon Seaton did a number of kindnesses for Thayer, but the most important thing he did was to introduce Thayer to Helen Loehlin. Helen was a class ahead of Thayer, but they had immediately become friends. Thayer had never had any close friends growing up. She was an only child and loneliness was just a part of life.

But now, for the first time, Thayer wasn't lonely anymore.

They were inseparable. Less than lovers, but more than friends, they worked and played together and found joy in each others' existence. Even when their duties kept them apart after graduation they had kept in touch and stayed close. The long, dull years of the pre-war navy passed and they remained friends. Thayer always knew that her feelings for Helen were deeper than Helen's were for her, but it did not matter. It was a pure sort of love and she was hardly even jealous when Helen married Anton Zilwicki. She took joy in Helen's happiness. And when Thayer was asked to be the godmother of Helen's child, her pride and happiness was only matched by being asked to be executive officer on Helen's first command.

Those years they spent together on _HMS Baldur_ were the happiest of Thayer's life. The war clouds were gathering, but that simply added to the excitement. Thayer never wanted it to end. But then the Admirals decided Thayer was ready for her own ship. She did not want to leave, but Helen took her aside and told her it was time. Anton and young Helen were going to Grendelsbane and _Baldur_ would probably be stationed there for a while, too. It was time.

After a tearful farewell, Thayer had watched Helen and _HMS Baldur_ sail away.

They never returned.

The anguish, the pain, the grief Thayer had felt when she got the news was unbearable. So she refused to bear it. She put it aside, submerged it beneath a mountain of hatred. A burning anger and an obsessive need to crush the people who had killed Helen overwhelmed every other emotion.

So Sylvia Thayer had never grieved for her friend.

Now she did.

"Oh God, I miss you so much, Helen!" Thayer raised her head and stared at the portrait. Tears streamed down her face.

And with the grief there was the guilt.

"I…I let you go off without me…and let the Peeps kill you."

Sobs wracked her chest.

"And now…and now I've let your daughter go off…and when the Peeps kill her, too…I'll be all alone again. All alone."

Thayer lowered her head and her tears dripped down to mix with the small puddle of blood on her polished desktop.

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

"**S**tupid! Stupid! _Stupid!" _shouted Alby Hinsworth as he strode back and forth in his office.

"Oh yeah, you were so damn smart! You were afraid of upsetting Helen or her father. So what did you do? Go to Admiral Thayer! She's a friend of the family, she's Helen's godmother, she'll know what to do!"

"Idiot! _Did you ever stop to think just __why__ she was Helen's godmother!?"_

Alby stopped his pacing and stared at the blank monitor on his computer terminal. He could still see the stricken look on Sylvia Thayer's face. He had never seen her so upset – not even after the time he had reprogrammed the automatic sprinklers in the formal gardens during the Prime Minister's visit. In fact, he had never seen anyone look so upset – except, maybe, for his father during his grandfather's funeral.

Alby sat down and sighed. He had tried to call Thayer back, but her secretary, who also looked pretty upset, would not put him through. So he had done a little research and made another call to Saganami Island – done what he should have done first. A short talk with CPO Jon Seaton had told him just what he had done.

He had hurt Sylvia Thayer. Wounded her about as deeply as anything could.

Alby was a prankster and a practical jokester, but he never really wanted to hurt anyone – well, maybe with one or two exceptions. But this time, he really had hurt someone, and it wasn't even a joke.

He closed his eyes and massaged his aching temples. He did not know what to do. There was no way to apologize or make amends. Anything he could say now would just make things worse.

He looked at his chrono and saw that he had to get going if he was going to make that reception. But right now, the last thing he wanted was to go to a reception.

He needed to get away. To think.

The touched a control on his monitor.

"Clarice?"

"Yes, sir?"

"I'm running a bit late here tonight. I won't be up for a while."

"All right, sir, but don't forget about the reception tonight," said Alby's driver.

"I haven't forgotten. I'll see you later."

"Very well, sir."

All right, that took care of his driver. It was the security detachment that was the problem. Now that he was the Heir, his security was much tighter. There were two cars full of bodyguards waiting up there to watch over him – whether he wanted them to or not. They did not particularly care whether he went to the reception, but he did not want them tagging along either.

Fortunately, they were not allowed into the Naval Intelligence Tower. The Navy understood the need for security for their officers who were also members of the aristocracy, but they drew the line at having bodyguards inside their facilities.

So Alby simply had to get out of the building unseen.

Not a big problem, actually. The security people were waiting up by the rooftop landing platform and Alby could simply leave by a different route. Alby had pulled off one or two "escapes" from his keepers in the past, but he had been on his good behavior for quite a while now, and his bodyguards had grown lax. They did keep track of his movements, but Alby had discovered their tricks – just in case.

He took his compad out of his belt holder and placed it on his desk. There was a transponder in it that would give away his location. He took a spare compad – with no transponder – out of his desk and slipped it into the holder. Then, he unfastened the tiny survivor's pin on the lapel of his uniform. Somehow, they had placed another transponder in it as well. It was very clever, really, because Alby was quite proud of that pin and always wore it on his uniform. But they had not reckoned on someone as devious as Alby – or someone with the resources of ONI as his disposal. Alby had found that device – along with several others – long ago. Alby took out a duplicate survivor's pin and fastened it on. Then he walked out of his office.

He took the lift down to street level, checked out through security, and walked out the main entrance of the building. It was the end of the watch and he was quickly lost in a crowd of other officers heading out on the streets of Landing. Alby flagged a cab and was soon on his way downtown.

Assuming he was not carrying some other tracking device that he had missed, he had given his bodyguards the slip. In a half-hour or so, they would realize he had left. They would check with the building security and find that he had gone out the main entrance, but then the trail would end.

On previous escapades they had been able to track him through his credit chip. Whenever he bought anything, they would know it. But now, he had his own money. The money his grandfather had left him was proving very convenient. With the help of his lawyer, Robert Reinstein, he had set up several credit accounts that were untraceable. He paid for his cab ride with one of those credit chips and disappeared into the night.

Not that he intended to stay disappeared for very long. He did not want to worry his parents or give his security people too much of a problem, but he just needed to get away for a while. Away from all the people hovering around him, away from being the Heir.

It had been building in him for quite a while. Even before his grandfather died. There was something inside him that was unhappy, dissatisfied. He wasn't sure what the problem was. It was not the Navy, or anything else he could put his finger on. But it was nagging at him. A little more each day. And this latest fiasco with Admiral Thayer had pushed him to get away. To get away and take out the problem and look at it – and if he could, to fix it.

Alby had that ability. He could look at a problem and see a solution. And he could even look inside himself, take some part of himself out, turn it around in the sunlight and examine it. Fix whatever the problem was and then put it back inside. He had done it before, and some instinct told him it was time to do it again.

He wandered through the streets of downtown. There was very little vehicular traffic. Counter-gravity cabs and busses would hop from place to place, but the streets were left to the pedestrians. Landing was the largest city in the Kingdom, but it was not particularly large as cities went. It covered a lot of area, but it was well planned and well maintained and it was a pleasant place to walk and think.

When he got hungry, he went into a restaurant and had a nice dinner. His uniform meant that he got good service even though they did not know who he really was. It was nice not having some maitre'd falling all over himself to wait on Lord Alby Hinsworth. By the time he finished, it was getting dark, but the streets were well lit, and the shops and entertainment centers were open, and Alby just wandered.

So what was wrong with him? He was afraid he knew, and he was afraid he knew a possible solution. It had been eating at him ever since that day up on the space station. The day he saw Anny and Patric and Helen leave and go off to the War.

And leave him behind.

It wasn't guilt that they were out fighting and he was here safe. Or he didn't think it was. Well, maybe a little. But he missed them. They were the closest friends he ever had and they were out there somewhere. He had not heard from any of them in months and that could only mean that they were in action, away from any base where they could get mail delivered.

They might even be dead.

He thought of the expression on Sylvia Thayer's face. Thayer had lost a friend once. It must have hurt her terribly. And today Alby had torn that wound wide open. How would he feel if he got word that one – or all – of his friends were dead? He could scarcely imagine it. It would not be like when his grandfather died, he was expecting that. And whatever he had thought about his grandfather, he had never thought about him as a friend. Would it be like losing his mother or his father unexpectedly? He could not really imagine that, either.

No, it was not guilt, not really. He was doing a job here, doing his part to win the war. And if he weren't doing it, then someone else would have to. So rushing off to fight the Peeps wasn't really the solution, but what was?

Alby had wandered away from the central part of the city. His feet had taken him towards the spaceport and he was in a section of town that was not quite as fashionable as Center City. There were a lot of people in uniform on the streets and he blended in. They were men and women from the Fleet, out on leave, having a good time.

He was not paying attention to where he was going and he turned down a narrower street. Suddenly, he was startled by the sound of breaking glass. He looked up in time to see two figures come tumbling out of a bar he was walking by.

He stared as they picked themselves up. One of them staggered in his direction.

"Another lousy squid!" said a slurred voice. Alby stood there, frozen, as a large fist came hurtling towards him.

The fist stopped a few centimeters from his face, the arm it was attached to restrained by the other figure.

"Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Jimmy-boy! I've told ya before: ya don't hit the ones with all the gold braid! If ya hit _them_, they'll put you in a cell for the rest of the war. Hit the ones _without_ the gold braid!"

The second voice was just as slurred as the first, but there was something familiar about it…

The second figure came forward. A woman in a marine uniform.

"Sssorry, sssir," said the woman, who reeled slightly from side to side. "My friend here didn't know who he was trying to punch. The other sq…,er, navy types in the bar, here took exception to our presence and we decided it was time to leave. Nothing personal, sir."

"Sergeant Lakner!" exclaimed Alby.

The woman took a step forward and squinted at Alby.

"Well, I'll be damned!" she said. "It's Mister Alb…Alb…Albussstus Hinsssworth! Terror of Sssaganami Island! Jimmy-boy, did I ever tell you about Alby Hinsworth?"

"Dunno, Sarge, he's a squid, ain't he?"

"Oh, but not just any squid, Jimmy-boy! He's the worst squid there ever was! He spent three years at the Academy walking punishment rounds! And now – good glory look at him – he's a loootenant, jay-gee! God help the Navy!"

Alby was surprised and happy enough to see a familiar face that he was only a little hurt by Lakner's appraisal of him. Lakner had been a marine instructor at the Academy when he was there. And in truth, he had been a terrible cadet. He had gotten to know Lakner pretty well marching all of those punishment rounds. But he'd never seen her drunk before…

"How are you doing, Sarge?" he asked.

"Doin' just fine, Lootenant. Out on the town, celebratin' a bit. But this is like Old Home Week! Brings back memories. Come along now! I know a place, not too far away, that lets both squids and jarheads in. We need to do some catching up!"

Alby was startled, but he followed along with the two marines as they wove their way down the street. The big man with Lakner threw him several unpleasant looks, but made no trouble. Eventually, they stumbled into another bar and found a table. Alby contented himself with a beer. The two marines were drinking considerably harder stuff.

"So let me look at you!" said Lakner after they were settled. "All grown up! And a lieutenant, too." She leaned closer and then flicked a finger on his survivor's pin. "Nuthin' like gettin' the hell blown out of you to make a man or woman out of a person, eh, Mister Hinsworth?"

"I guess not, Sarge," said Alby. He wasn't quite sure what to say to this woman. Her companion seemed to have no interest in the conversation and looked to be ready to doze off.

"How have you been?" he asked. "Things pretty dull on the Island now that I'm gone?"

"Hah!" she laughed. "They were certainly quieter! But I'm not there anymore, now. That's what we're out celebrating!"

"Really? You're not assigned to the Academy anymore?"

"No, sir, I am not!"

Alby was a little surprised. Being assigned to Saganami Island was some of the most prestigious duty anyone – Navy or Marine—could get. Eventually, they would be transferred back to a line assignment, but Lakner certainly did not seem upset about leaving.

"No, sir, no more baby-sitting a bunch of snotnose… er…young ladies and gentlemen for me! I'm headed back to my regiment, back to the good old Sixty-first!"

She turned slightly and pointed to her unit patch. It was indeed the Sixty-first regiment. Even Alby had heard of them. They were one of the crack regiments in the Royal Marines. They were known as "Harrington's Own", named for their honorary colonel, Honor Harrington. Alby also noticed that she now sported the chevrons of a sergeant major.

"Congratulations on your promotion, Sarge," said Alby.

"Yup, Company Sergeant-Major Lakner of 'C' Company, Second Battalion, that's me."

"'C' Company, that's the Assault Company, isn't it?"

"Yes indeedy! Power armor for lil' Donna! I can hardly wait!"

"I guess you're pretty anxious to get back into action."

Lakner paused and stared at Alby. Suddenly she did not seem nearly as drunk as she had a moment before. She stared at him a long time before speaking.

"That's what you think, isn't it? You're just another kid, all full of piss n' vinegar, just like this sorry sack o'…" she nudged her barely conscious companion.

"Well let me tell you something, Mister Hinsworth. I'm not going back to the regiment to fight. I've done enough fighting to last a lifetime already. I'll probably do some fighting, but that's not why I'm going back. I'm going back because that's where my friends are. I'm going back to be with my 'mates, back where I belong."

She got a faraway look in her eyes and stared past Alby at nothing.

"Those years on the Island. I spent those years safe – except for when I was on the firing range with you – while my 'mates were off getting killed. That's a hard thing to do, Mister Hinsworth. It's hard to stay behind while your friends are getting shot at. I finally decided I couldn't do that anymore. I had to get back to my friends. Have you ever had any friends, Mister Hinsworth?"

Alby nodded numbly.

"Well then you know what I'm talking about. Nothing more important than your friends. Not the Queen, not the Kingdom, not the Fleet, not even the Regiment. Nothing more important in this whole, big, hairy universe."

"I know," whispered Alby.

He stared down into his glass as the truth of her words sank in. She went on talking for a while but he hardly heard her. After a while he made some excuses and said good-bye to Sergeant Lakner and went back out onto the streets of Landing.

Friends.

He had friends. And just then he wanted to see them more than anything he could think of. But they were gone. Off somewhere, out among those stars that the city lights blotted from the sky. He walked for a while. It was still fairly early; Sergeant Lakner must have started celebrating in mid-afternoon to have gotten into that state.

The loneliness that filled him was numbing. He was just about to head home – just to see some familiar face – when he remembered that he did have one friend who had not gone off to the War. Abigail Payne, Anny's sister, was still here. He had not talked to her for over a month. Suddenly, he wanted to see her very much.

He summoned a cab and shortly he was heading for the suburbs. He checked the time again. It was not exactly early, but it really was not that late either. She would probably still be awake. He just hoped her mothers would let him see her unannounced like this. He hoped they would not notice the beer on his breath. He brushed at his uniform.

He had the cab leave him off a few blocks away and he walked the rest of the distance. The embassy looked like it always did: a nearly featureless fortress of ceramicrete that completely disguised the delightful structure within its walls. Alby walked up to the entrance and identified himself to the guard. He thought he recognized the man, but he looked at Alby with a strange expression and seemed very tense.

"All right, sir. I'll call the Payne residence, but I'm not sure they'll be able to see you tonight."

"I know it's kind of late," replied Alby, but it did not seem like the time was what the guard was talking about.

After a few moments on the com he turned to Alby. "Someone will be here shortly, sir."

"Thank you."

It was about ten minutes before the inner gate opened. Alby had expected one of the servants to come and escort him to the Payne's apartments, so he was surprised to see Abigail herself come through the door.

"Alby! Oh, thank you for coming!" she exclaimed.

He looked at her in confusion. She was obviously upset and when she got closer he could see that she had been crying.

"Abbie! What's wrong?"

"You mean you haven't heard?" she asked in surprise.

Alby just shook his head.

She flung her arms around him and sobbed against his shoulder.

"Oh, Alby! Anny's ship is missing!"

End of Book Two

**Second Interlude**

"**W**ell, that's it, Skipper, as far as material goes, we're about as ready as we'll ever be," said Citizen Commander Edward Krieser.

"Good. But we have three more days before we pull out of here," said Citizen Captain Gerard LaSalle, commanding officer of the battleship _PNS Mars la Tour_. "So have all the department heads do a double check. If there is anything we are missing, find out and we can try and pry it loose from the supply depot."

"Right, Skipper. I think we are actually in pretty good shape as far as supplies and spare parts go – at least for the things we can still get parts for – I'm more worried about the crew. We've got an awful lot of half-trained newbies aboard."

"I know, I know. Hopefully we'll have time to do some serious training once we get out of here."

"I hope so, we sure need it. Speaking of getting out of here, do you have our orders?"

"Yes, they arrived about an hour ago. I was just going over them when you came in."

"So where are we off to? Or do I really want to know?"

"Well, probably not," answered LaSalle. "But before we get into that, there are a couple of other things I want to go over first."

"Okay, Skipper."

"The first thing is an idea I want to run by you. You know we have forty 'new' point defense laser clusters. It occurs to me that we still have over thirty of those old autocannons in place. Do you think we could get them operational?"

Krieser was obviously surprised by the question. "I don't know, Skipper. We'd have to check out the cannons themselves and I don't know if we have anyone who's even familiar with something like that. The mounts and tracking devices should be straightforward enough. What about ammunition? The magazines are empty. And for that matter, why would we even want to get them operational?"

"Well, it has occurred to me, that the places we are going and the people we may have to fight are not exactly on the cutting edge of technology. We may end up facing contact nukes – exactly the thing those autocannons were designed to defend against. I'll grant you the laser clusters will do a vastly better job, but we could use the autocannons as a backup."

"Ah, I see," said Krieser. "Not a bad idea, actually."

"Glad you like it," said LaSalle with a grin. "But you are right that ammunition is going to be a problem. Any chance there might be some laying around the supply depot?"

"I don't know, Skipper, but if there is, I have just the man who can find it."

"Really? Who?"

"Chief Garner. He's our master scrounger. I can't list the number of things that we were told by Supply that they did not have that Garner was able to find. If there is any autocannon ammo in this star system, he'll find it."

"Good. See if he can find someone that knows about autocannons, too."

"That might take a little more doing, but I'll see what we can come up with."

"All right. Now on to another matter, and I'm afraid it's not going to be as easy to solve as the problem with those cannons."

"What's that, Skipper?"

LaSalle looked at his first officer with an unhappy expression. "You know about the problem, Commander. I'm just a bit disturbed that _I_ had to find out about it from our good People's Commissioner. I need you to keep me informed about problems, Ed, not hide them from me."

Krieser looked embarrassed. "The problems with the crew."

"Yes the problems with the crew. Harassment, gangs, fighting and injuries. Allowing for exaggeration by Zaharas it still sounds like a civil war below decks. What the hell is going on, and why haven't I been kept informed?"

Krieser's embarrassment deepened. "I…I'm sorry, Skipper. I was hoping I could get it sorted out without bothering you. You've had so much hanging over you as it is. I know they're breathing down your neck to get us operational, and I thought…"

"Commander… Ed, I know you try to watch out for me, but I'm a big boy now and I have to know what's going on with my ship. The fact that we are two months late getting out of here is the fault of the lousy job the yard did on our refit. The Commodore knows what our situation is. Now, fill me in on this mess."

"Yes, sir. It's pretty bad. We've got twenty-five hundred crew on this ship. Six hundred are from the old _Malplequet, _there's no problem with them and they really form the core of the crew. We've got another four hundred good ones from other wrecked ships. They are being amalgamated without any real problem. The rest are all conscripts or volunteers and that's where the trouble is coming from."

"The gang members from the complexes?"

"They are certainly part of the problem, Skipper. Thugs and petty criminals given a choice between jail and the Navy. A pretty sorry lot. Hardly trained at all and wouldn't want to work even if they knew what to do. Probably only a hundred or so really bad ones, but they cause a lot of trouble. If we had some real marines it would be easier. These damn Blacklegs aren't much different from the gangies."

"But you say they are just part of the problem?"

"Yes, sir. We've also got about two hundred punks from the 'Peoples Youth' that Zaharus has been trying to turn into a sort of auxiliary Blackleg organization. Basically, they have become their own set of gangs that have been trying –unsuccessfully—to crack down on the other gangs – when they are not busy trying to intimidate the other members of the crew. The Blacklegs don't seem too interested in keeping order, just lording it over everyone else and doing as little real work as possible. Then you have our folks – the professionals—who are starting to gang together for their own protection. Add in the eighty new junior officers from what passes for OCS these days, who nobody trusts, and that's the whole sorry story."

"Zaharus is complaining that our officers are 'harassing' the 'loyal citizens of the Republic'," said LaSalle.

"He means that we are actually asking them to do some work!" replied Krieser angrily. "His lil' darlings have got it into their heads that they are something special and should not have to work like everyone else. When an officer gives them an order they don't like, they go running to Zaharus crying 'harassment'."

LaSalle shook his head. "So what have you been doing about it?"

"I've been trying to form teams that can work together and count on each other. Put a few of our old people with a few from the other ships and add in some of the conscripts who seem like they might be worth something. That seems to be working pretty well. Then I've been trying to bust up the gangs as much as possible by putting them on different watches and as far removed from each other as I can arrange. That has not worked nearly as well, I'm afraid. I'm halfway hoping that if we can keep the good people out of the way, the street punks and Zaharus' mob will just wipe each other out and let us get on with running the ship."

"There haven't been any serious injuries so far?" asked LaSalle.

"Well, nothing disabling. A few cuts and lacerations, broken bones, things like that. But it's only a matter of time until someone gets killed."

"Zaharus is threatening to let his Blacklegs 'restore order'."

Krieser sighed. "Skipper, I almost think that might not be a bad idea, as much as I hate to say it. A few arrests, a court martial or two, maybe even an execution, might be what it takes to get the message across."

"Damn, what a mess," said LaSalle, shaking his head. "All right, Ed. What's the bottom line? Can this ship function, or am I going to have to tell the Commodore my ship is unfit for duty?"

"I don't think it's _that_ bad, Skipper," said Krieser, clearly worried. "I'd say we've got about sixteen hundred we can really count on. That's enough to man all the weapons and other absolutely vital stations when we are at general quarters. We can fight. The real weak spot is going to be at damage control. We should have close to eight hundred people in damage control parties in a battle. We'll have that many, but only about two hundred of them will be worth much."

"I see. Well, since you are doing everything that can be done under the circumstances – and I certainly don't have any better ideas—I guess I can't get too mad at you. Just don't do this to me again, Ed, okay?"

"Sure, Skipper. Sorry."

"Now on to the business of where we are going."

"I can hardly wait."

"Well, no real surprises. It's pretty much what we were expecting. I suppose I should _be_ surprised that anything is the way we were told it would be, but there's not much else they can really do with us."

"Garrison duty and anti-insurgency patrol?" asked Krieser with a grimace.

"Yes, with some convoy duty thrown in. The only bright spot is that it seems like they will be moving us around a good bit. At least we won't be stuck in one spot forever."

LaSalle turned his compad around and slid it over to Krieser so he could see their schedule.

"First we go to Haven to pick up a troop convoy – a whole new batch of State Security forces. It's a major convoy, almost two hundred thousand troops. God knows where they're all coming from, I guess StateSec is scouring the streets of New Paris."

"If this batch we've got on board in place of our marines is any indication, they can't have much training beyond knowing how to break heads," said Krieser. "You know, if the rumors of what's been happening back there are true, I'm a little surprised McQueen is still letting Saint Just ship out his little friends."

"Well, maybe she'd rather they were away from Haven rather than there at Saint Just's disposal. In any case, for a convoy that size, there will be a pretty strong escort; we are just one small part. The convoy will be stopping off at a number of systems to debark some of those troops. Some of the escorts will be staying behind as garrisons, too. By the time we get to our final destination, there won't be much but us and a few transports left, but we will be rendezvousing with another small convoy after we get there."

"Hmmm," said Krieser, looking at the compad. "We go from Haven to Electris, then to Acre. Looks like the convoy sort of splits up at that point. We head off to Kharlos, then Lashattau, then to…"

LaSalle looked up as his first officer stopped speaking. He was startled to see his friend's face go an ashen white as he stared at the compad. He was about to ask him what was wrong, when he suddenly _knew_ what was wrong.

"Ed? Ed? That's where it was, wasn't it? That anti-insurgency patrol you talked about."

Ed Krieser closed his eyes and nodded. It was a few moments before he regained his composure.

"God, I prayed I'd never see that place again," he whispered.

"I'm sorry. We've got orders to clean out the insurgents there."

"Damn! You'd think after the way we trashed the place the last time, they'd know better than to try anything again!"

"Some people just never learn, I guess," said LaSalle. The pair was silent for a few moments.

"Ed, I hope we don't have to do any of the things you had to do that other time, but I can't promise you that we won't have to kill some people."

"I just don't want to slaughter helpless people, Skipper. You can understand that can't you?"

"I understand, but if the reports I've been given are accurate, they aren't nearly so helpless as the last time you were there. If it makes you feel any better, they may be able to give us a real fight this time."

"Somehow that doesn't make me feel any better at all, Skipper."

[Scene Break]

Captain Abiel Christopher stared down at the carpet of High Admiral Wesley Matthews' cabin aboard _GNS Exalted_. He could not force himself to meet the Admiral's eyes.

"It's my fault, sir. It was criminally negligent and irresponsible for me to have sent her off like that. I'm sorry."

"Don't try to take all the blame yourself, Chris," said Rear Admiral John Newsum from the chair beside him. "I approved of your assignments. I saw who you were putting on that cruiser and I didn't raise any objections."

"Gentleman," said Matthews, "you are going to have to wait your turn to see the hangman. I have seniority over both of you." It was a feeble attempt at humor and it did nothing to lighten the gloom that was weighing down these three men.

"Neither of you have any reason to blame yourselves," continued Matthews. "I might have done the same thing myself if I had been in your shoes. It seemed like a reasonably safe way to give Lieutenant Payne some more experience – experience that I ordered you to see she got. It is entirely proper for the personnel of a prize crew to be one or two grade levels below the rank that would normally hold those positions. Making a senior grade lieutenant the first officer was completely reasonable. No, whatever blame there is, should rest squarely on my shoulders, and that's what I've told the Protector."

The two other men might have felt relieved that their careers were not going to be ruined by this, but it did not really make them feel any better.

"We are going to search for them, aren't we Admiral?" asked Christopher.

"Indeed we are, Captain! I did not come all the way out here just to get the story straight from your lips. We are already starting a major operation to look for the missing ship, and you and Task Force Thirty-Two are all going to be involved."

"The whole Task Force, Admiral?" asked Newsum.

"More than that, in fact, John. We are shaking loose every ship we can for this. The Protector is also committing most of the lighter vessels of the Protector's Own Squadron. In addition, the Royal Navy is giving us anything it can spare."

Newsum whistled. "That's a huge outlay of resources, Admiral. As much as I hate to say it, can we really justify it for just one ship? What will the newsies and the Opposition say?"

"You mean for just one person, John," said Matthews. "Let's be honest: If it was just a missing cruiser, we would search, but only to the extent that wartime necessity would allow. I certainly hope we find all of the crew, but we are really going to be searching for Andreanne Payne."

"Well, yes, you are right, Admiral. That's just what I meant. There could be a lot of criticism about this."

Matthews nodded. "Eventually, there probably will be. Fortunately, at the moment, very few people know about the situation. The skipper of the destroyer _Trevose_ was quick witted enough to keep his mouth shut about Lieutenant Payne being aboard the _Coeur de Lion_. When she did not show up at Holiway, he sent a coded dispatch straight to Grayson by the fastest route possible. That's how I was able to get out here nearly at the same time you got back from your raid. As of right now, only a few people at the highest levels know about this on Grayson and Manticore – and we have informed Lieutenant Payne's immediate family. I'm sure that word is getting around with your own people, but they are all safely here at a secret base that the newsies don't even know exists. There is a lot of interest in Lieutenant Payne's activities, but as far as anyone knows, she is still aboard _Alliance_, and until _Alliance_ returns to a regular port, no one is going to miss her. With any luck, no one will find out until after we've found her."

"_If_ we find her, Admiral. You have to realize what a long shot that is," said Newsum glumly.

The three men were silent for a moment. They all knew that in every likelihood, Andreanne Payne and the crew of _Coeur de Lion_ were already dead.

"Yes, I do know," said Matthews with a sigh. "But we are going to give it our best shot. This Commander Brock who's in command of the ship, what's your evaluation of him, Captain?"

"He's an excellent officer, sir," replied Christopher. "If the ship wasn't destroyed in the battle, he has the skills and know-how to get her home."

"I'm glad to hear that," said Matthews. "If you will come over here to the star map, we can discuss our plans."

They got up from their chairs and walked across the large cabin to a holodisplay. Admiral Matthews touched a control and a representation of the space in the search area blinked into existence. A dusting of stars filled the display – far too many stars for anyone's liking. He touched more controls, and two of the stars glowed more brightly. Labels appeared, identifying them as Boetia and Holiway. A red ribbon connected the two.

"From the reports we have received from _Trevose_ and _Luneville_, this is where the convoy was attacked." A dot appeared on the ribbon, not far from Boetia. "The four Peep ships fit the description given by Captain Levenger as the ones who were lurking at Boetia. I think we have learned a lesson here, gentleman," said Matthews. "We did not want to include courier ships with these garrisons we were leaving behind as part of Operation Anaconda, because they are unarmed and in rather exposed positions. But by not having them available it puts the garrison commander in a tough situation. Levenger wanted to warn both the convoy and you, Admiral Newsum, and send word to the rear as well, but he only had the one destroyer available as a messenger. He probably made the right decision sending the 'can after you, even though it did not catch up until you reached your next target. In the future, we will have several couriers attached at each garrison."

Matthews stopped and sighed. "Hindsight is always twenty-twenty. Of course, even if the courier was available, it probably would not have helped the convoy much. We have analyzed the tactical records from _Trevose_, and I must say that Commander Hotchkiss certainly made the most of what he had. He was obviously a skilled and aggressive officer; it's a real pity he was killed. The records show that much for sure: _Meadowbrook_ was destroyed along with one of the Peep destroyers during the last exchange of fire. It was apparent that the Peep _Mars_ class cruiser was heavily hit and that _Coeur de Lion_ was also taking fire. Unfortunately, _Trevose_ and _Luneville_ translated up to the Epsilon Band an instant before _Coeur de Lion_ was scheduled to translate downward to Gamma. At the time they lost contact with her, _Coeur de Lion_ seemed to be still operational, but we cannot confirm that.

"The fact that she never reached Holiway indicates that she was crippled to some degree. We may as well admit that if she lost a sail in that exchange, then she has doubtlessly been destroyed by now and we are unlikely to find any trace. We have to assume that she received serious but not fatal damage. That gives us several possibilities. One is that she was forced to drop out of hyper. Perhaps sail damage or impeller damage, or both would have prevented her return to hyperspace. In that situation, then we are left with a volume of N-space that she could be in. There are no stars within easy reach of her fuel supply, so she would probably just conserve her power and wait for a search force. Presumably, she will be broadcasting a distress message, which by this time is more than a light-month in radius. We are going to be sending a number of ships to drop out of hyper in that region and try to pick up the signal."

"We'll have to include a pretty large volume, Admiral," said Newsum. "If she still had her sails and perhaps had to evade a pursuer, she could have come out of hyper a long way from the battle site."

"Yes, that is true. We will have a large enough force to cover a reasonable area. Fortunately, with every passing day, the radius of the distress signal—assuming there is one—grows larger and increases the chances of us picking it up.

"The second possibility is that she had damage to her sails but was able to get out of the grav wave in time. If they could not use the grav wave again, it is possible they would have to proceed with impellers only. That would have slowed them down, but they still would have reached Holiway before being terribly overdue. It is possible that additional damage - loss of fuel, damage to their particle shielding, reactor damage – could have made it impossible to reach Holiway. They probably did not try to go back to Boetia for fear the Peeps were in possession again. That means, they would try to reach another star system.

"Unfortunately, we don't know where they left the wave. There are as many as a thousand star systems they could have made for. If it was just a matter of their needing fuel, they could have gone to any system that has planets, whether they are habitable or not. If they needed to get critical repairs – damage to their environmental plant, for example – they may have headed for an inhabited system. This gives us a hell of a lot of places to search. And if they head for an inhabited system that is still in Peep hands, they are not going to be broadcasting their location openly – unless they are in critical trouble and are willing to surrender.

"So the plan is, gentlemen, we are going to be sending ships to search as many of these systems as we can. Obviously we are going to be splitting you up and spreading you out, so you are not going to have much of a task group to command, John."

"I can live with that, Admiral," said Newsum. "But it is going to be difficult to coordinate the search. Particularly with the additional ships coming from Grayson and the Manticorans."

"Difficult? It's going to be impossible. It is inevitable that some places may get searched two or three times and others not at all on the first go around. We'll be sending you out there for a few months and then everyone will report back and we will try to hit the places we missed the first time."

"I hope to God we can find them, Admiral," said Newsum. "But this is going to play merry hell with our time-table for Anaconda. Most of the inhabited systems in the search area are pretty minor. Is the Protector aware of just how much force we are diverting to this?"

"He is," said Matthews. "I had a long talk with him before I left. I pointed out that this was going to delay operations and prolong the war and probably cost additional lives."

"What did he say, sir?"

"Just two words: 'Find her'."


	4. Book Three

**Lieutenants**

**Book Three**

**Hunters and Hunted**

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

"**A**lby, what is this nonsense?" asked Admiral Patricia Givens, gesturing to what was on her compad.

"It's a request for transfer, ma'am," said Alby Hinsworth. He had his eyes fixed on a spot on the wall, a few centimeters above her head.

"I can see that," said Givens. "A request for transfer to shipboard duty. Specifically, a request for transfer to _HMS Fortitude_. Would you care to explain to your senile old grandmother just what you are up to now?"

Alby stood in front of Givens' desk and tried not to look nervous. He _was_ nervous, but he had known this was coming and he had tried to prepare himself for it. He glanced around Givens' palatial office, which was near the top of the Naval Intelligence Tower. He had been here a few times, but he had never been here when he was so on edge.

"I…I'm getting a little bored with my job, ma'am. I thought something a little more active would help me keep my interest in a naval career."

Givens snorted. "Don't try and give me that bull, young man! You can't pull the wool over my eyes that easily! I've been watching you Alby. Watching you far more carefully and for far longer than you might imagine. It's my job to notice things. And I don't need to be a NavInt operative to know that the last thing you would want is shipboard duty! You made no secret of the fact that you wanted nothing to do with the Navy. I'll hand it to you that you stuck it out and got your commission. I used my influence to make sure you got a nice, safe comfortable job. That certainly made your mother happy, and it seemed like it was tolerable for you, too. You have been doing a good job where you are – now this! What's the story? - and I want the truth!"

Alby clenched his hands. Could he tell her the truth? Would she understand? If she did, would she help him or thwart him? The seconds dragged on as he tried to figure out what to say.

"Alby, there is no way I'm going to approve this unless you tell me," said Givens, tapping a finger on the compad.

He bit on his lip and then took a deep breath. There was nothing to do but tell her the truth. Alby had no leverage at all here. His grandmother was holding all the cards and they both knew it.

"It…it's about my friends, ma'am."

"Your friends." Givens stared at him intently. "Just which friends are we talking about?"

"Two of my Academy roommates, ma'am. Andreanne Payne and Patric McDermott."

Givens leaned back in her chair. The expression on her face was one of mild surprise. Alby felt vaguely pleased that he was able to surprise her. Then she slowly began to nod her head.

"Yes, of course. You've been seeing Payne's sister. I should have realized she would tell you." Givens was speaking softly, almost to herself. "You know that their ship has been reported missing?"

"Yes, ma'am." Alby bit back a stab of anger. Givens had known all along, but she never told him!

"You are more resourceful than I gave you credit for. This is all top secret. The ships assigned to the search don't even know the full story. And so you want a transfer to _Fortitude_ so you can go look for them."

"Yes, ma'am. That was my intention."

"That's very…noble of you, Alby. I must admit I'm rather surprised."

"Surprised that I have friends that I care about?" said Alby, sharply.

"Yes, to be perfectly blunt. I knew that you had become friends with your roommates and that little fracas in your third form showed that they cared about you. But yes, Alby, I am a bit surprised that you care enough about them to do this. Growing up it never seemed like you cared about anyone except yourself – and your mother."

Alby's anger was growing. So that's what she thought about him! He'd wondered sometimes.

"I do care about them," he said. He got his anger under control. He realized that losing his temper here was not going to help him.

"I see. So you are just going to drop things here, hop on a ship and go out and find them? Alby, you have to realize how slim a chance that is. I'm sorry to have to say it, but there it is. Even if they are alive, what are the chances that you would be on the ship to find them?"

"I have to at least try, ma'am! I'm a fully qualified sensor operator. I would not just be a deadhead; I can pull my weight and try. I don't think I could live with myself if I didn't try."

"Humph!" snorted Givens. "Noble words! Alby you would be very surprised with just how much a person can live! I sit here every day making decisions that I have to live with. I have to analyze the information that comes to me and then make my recommendations to the First Space Lord and the admirals out on the line. Sometimes my recommendations are wrong. When that happens, our men and women die needlessly. I have to live with that. And you are going to have to live with this. I'm sorry, Alby, your reasons just aren't good enough for me to approve this."

Alby was stunned. His whole life he had been given virtually anything he wanted. Sometimes he had to do things he did not want, but very little had been denied him. He had come into Givens' office expecting an unpleasant scene, but he never really believed she's turn him down flat.

"But…but," he stuttered.

"I don't need to remind you that there is a war going on. It is true that we are going to be making a large effort to locate that ship and your friends. Efforts that cannot be justified on either military or humanitarian grounds. But this is politically important. Lieutenant Payne is very important to the Graysons, so we are going to help our ally. And it's not unprecedented. There have been a lot of important people in the Royal Navy over the years and we have launched massive search efforts on several occasions in the past to find one of them if their ship disappeared. I also don't need to point out that _you_ are an important person. How can I justify sending you out there – and possibly losing you – on what is probably a wild goose chase?"

"So I'm just going to have to sit here? I can't do that, Admiral!"

"Yes you can. You'd be amazed at what you can do if you have to. And I think your parents would be far happier that way, too."

"I don't…I don't care what my parents want! This is something I have to do! You and they have been telling me what I have to do for years! Now this is something I have to do for myself and for my friends!" Alby was trying not to cry, but his voice was choking up and there were tears forming in his eyes in spite of his efforts.

"I'm sorry, Alby, but the answer is 'no'."

Alby looked down at the floor. What could he do? What could he say to this iceberg of a woman? Did she have any feelings at all? Why couldn't she see how important this was? His anger fought with his need to keep calm. He almost spun on his heel and stomped out, but he restrained himself. This was the only shot he was going to have and he had to say something that would get through to her.

"G…Grandmother, please…"

He had only said it to buy some time to think, but Givens' eyebrows shot up.

"Are you talking to me, _grandson_?"

"Yes! I've never asked you for anything before…"

"No, you haven't. Am I supposed to feel grateful for that, Alby? I would very much have liked to have my grandson ask me for something – for anything! But you never did. I know we have never been close. My career left little time for family – my decision of course, so I can't complain. I can't expect you to have much love for me, but you are my grandson, and I do love you, Alby."

"And these are my friends! And…and I love them!"

Alby said the last sentence with every bit of sincerity and emotion he could muster and it seemed to hit home on the woman behind the desk. Givens looked down. She drummed her fingers on the top and for the first time, looked uncertain.

"Well, well, well, who would have thought it? The Duke was right after all." She was speaking to herself again.

"Ma'am?"

"Eh? Oh, your grandfather, the late Duke. He told me you had changed, that the Academy had changed you. I could see that some of that was true, but I did not realize how much. He was really proud of you, you know."

"What?" Alby was startled.

"He was proud of you. Proud that you went to the Academy and didn't quit. Proud of how you did on your 'prentice cruise. We talked about it over the com a few times."

Alby pondered that for a few seconds. He had suspected it from the Duke's last recorded message to him. Then a new thought struck him.

"Were you proud of me, Grandmother?"

"Not a fair question, Alby. I suppose I was, although coming from a naval family, I guess my expectations were a bit higher. You did the minimum that was expected from you. Considering what might have happened, that might be a reason to be proud."

"I guess I'm a disappointment compared to Uncle Harry," said Alby. He knew it was a mistake the instant he said it, but since she wasn't going to give in anyway, what difference did it make?

Givens winced and the pain in her eyes could be plainly seen. "I suppose that is what you thought, isn't it? That when I lost your uncle I was looking to you as some sort of replacement. Someone to carry on the traditions of the family. Well, perhaps I was. But it wasn't just my decision. The Duke had a great deal to say in the matter. And your parents, too."

"Everyone but me!" said Alby bitterly.

"You were a bit young to be making those sorts of decisions…"

"Young! I was thirteen! I was just a kid and you made the decision for me! Send me to the Academy! Make a man out of me. Someone to be proud of. An officer and a gentleman. The Duke said he was doing it for my good and the good of the Kingdom. Teach me duty and responsibility. Well, it worked! I'm not the same person I was before. I learned about duty and responsibility – and about loyalty, too! My friends are out there somewhere and I have a duty to try and find them. They risked everything for me once and I owe it to them. Or was all that stuff they taught us on the Island just a bunch of crap, Grandmother?" There were tears running down Alby's cheeks, but he stared straight at Givens.

She stared straight back at him, but after a moment she dropped her eyes. The woman sighed and slowly shook her head. "No, Alby, it's not a bunch of crap. It's what holds the Navy together. Laws and regulations and orders might seem to be what's doing it, but down deep, it's loyalty. Not just to the Crown and the Kingdom, but to each other. Perhaps I never expected to see that in you. Perhaps I'd forgotten it myself. You asked me if I was proud of your performance at the Academy. I suppose I was, but not as proud as I am right now."

Admiral Givens sat and stared off into space for a long time. A faint glimmer of hope began to grow in Alby.

"Your mother is going to hate me for this…"

"You mean I can go?" asked Alby excitedly. Givens fixed him in her gaze.

"I mean that since my grandson has asked me to do a favor for him, I am going to approve his request for a transfer – but not to the _Fortitude_."

Alby's face fell. "But, why not?"

"Because you want to go search for your friends. I'm glad to see that you're not completely infallible in finding out things you are not supposed to know. _Fortitude_ was scheduled to take part in the search, but she has suffered a major engineering casualty and will be heading for the yards instead. Do you want to spend the next six months in a repair slip?"

"Uh, no, ma'am. But then which…?"

"Give me a moment, will you? Let's see what we can find." Givens turned to her computer terminal and began entering commands. A growing sense of elation was filling Alby. _She was going to let him go!_

"Let's see, there's _Retribution_, but no, you'd never make the rendezvous before she hypered out. Hmmm…" Givens was talking to herself.

Alby wanted to rush over to the terminal and help her find him a ship, but he stopped himself. He was fidgeting and bouncing up and down slightly on the plush carpet. Several endless minutes went by and then he saw the Admiral smile slightly.

"Yes, a battlecruiser would make me a lot happier than a heavy cruiser anyway. And just the right captain to keep a young hellion like you in line." She turned away from the terminal to face Alby. "_HMS Defiant_ will be coming out of the repair yards in three days. She had taken a lot of battle damage and has a number of new crew to replace casualties. She was scheduled to return to Eighth Fleet, but she is being diverted to the search effort. Will that suit you, grandson?"

"Yes, ma'am! She'll do fine!"

"I can have your orders cut immediately. That will only give you a few days to get yourself ready. Are you absolutely sure you want to do this, Alby?"

"Yes, Grandmother, I'm as sure as I've ever been about anything."

"All right, I'll do this favor for you. But you realize that you are going to be stuck on this ship for a while. If your friends are found tomorrow or in two months, I'm not going to cancel or reverse the transfer. I won't do that to _Defiant's_ captain. It's bad enough that I'm forcing you on her, but I'm not going to play any more games than I have to."

"I understand, ma'am," said Alby nodding. It was a small price to pay…

"I'm probably a fool to agree to this, Alby. But you are showing some good qualities here. Qualities I was afraid I might never see in you. I'm not going to squash them before they even have a chance."

"I'll try not to give you any reason to regret it, Grandmother," said Alby. "And thank you. Thank you very much."

"You're welcome, Alby," said Givens. She turned back to her monitor and began typing. She continued to talk even though she was not looking at Alby. "Now go home and give my love to your mother. She's not going to be happy about this and you should spend some time with her while you can."

"Yes, ma'am, I will." Alby saluted, faced about, and walked toward the door.

Behind him Admiral Patricia Givens continued to type, but she whispered: "Good hunting, Alby, and Godspeed."

[Scene Break]

"Alby, you are being so brave," said Abigail Payne.

"I wish you'd stop saying that," said Alby quietly. He looked around the departure bay but no one seemed to be paying any particular attention to them. His mother and most of the Payne family were here to see him off. At the moment his mother was talking with Abigail's two mothers – and God knew what about.

"But why? You _are_ being brave to go looking for Anny and Patric."

"Shhh! That's a secret, you know."

"What? That you're being brave?"

Alby grimaced, but then he smiled. "You know perfectly well what I mean."

"Yes, and you know what I say is true, too," insisted Abigail.

Alby shrugged. "I'm not doing this to be brave, Abbie. It's just something I have to do. They're my friends and I owe it to them – not that there is any chance that I'll be the one to find them. In fact, I'll bet that they come in under their own power and don't need anyone to find them."

"Oh, I hope you are right! I've been so worried about them – and now I'll be worrying about you, too."

"No need to worry. I'll be aboard a big, powerful battlecruiser. Safe as houses."

"A battlecruiser that has already been shot to pieces once," said Abigail.

"But she made it back. She's a good ship with a good crew and an experienced commander. Captain Loehlin is Helen's aunt, did you know that?"

"Really? That's great! Does she know you are Helen's friend?"

"I haven't even met her yet, Abbie. I just hope she's not too mad at having my grandmother force me on her like this."

"Why would she be mad?"

"No captain is going to like getting some special transfer from one of the space lords thrown at them at the last minute. The fact that I'm Admiral Givens' grandson means that she'll have to treat me with kid gloves. Plus the fact that I'm coming from ONI and this rather mysterious search mission is going to make her think that something is going on that she doesn't know about – which is true, of course."

"Are they going to tell her who she's looking for?"

"I don't know," said Alby. "They will probably give her some sort of sealed orders to be opened after we sail. Whether they'll tell her everything…" Alby just shrugged.

"I'm going to miss you, Alby," said Abigail. She was staring at him with those green eyes of hers.

"I'll miss you, too," he said. He was trying to figure out what else to say – or what not to say – when the others came over to them. They all looked worried, but they were trying to put on a brave front. Abigail's father looked especially haggard. _He probably hasn't been getting much sleep lately._

"Just about time to go, Alby," he said. He hesitated a moment and then held out his hand. "I want to thank you for what you are doing, son. I know Anny thought a great deal of you and now I can see why. May the Tester watch over you and guide you."

Alby took his hand. "Thank you, sir. I'll do my best to find them, but as I was just telling Abbie, they'll probably turn up soon on their own."

Ambassador Payne's two wives hugged him and kissed him on the cheeks. Abbie's little brother, Jeremiah shook his hand and then burst into tears and huddled against his mothers. The Payne's withdrew a few meters and Alby was left facing his mother.

"Mother, I know you don't want me to go, but please try to understand. I have to do this." The three days since he had given her the news had been very difficult. She had been angry, and then she had cried. Since then she had hardly said a word to him. Now she was staring at him and there were tears glistening in her eyes. But then she smiled a shaky smile and nodded her head.

"I know. I know what it means to care about someone." She held out her arms and Alby moved into her embrace.

"I'm very proud of you, Alby. _Very proud._ Just be careful and come back as soon as you can."

"I will, Mother. Take care of father while I'm away."

His mother nodded and then kissed him. He stepped back and picked up his bag. He nodded to the Paynes.

"Don't worry, folks. We'll all be all right."

Then he headed for the boarding tube. _Defiant_ had been pushed out of the repair slip as soon as the work on her was done to make room for another ship. She was floating a few hundred kilometers away and Alby would have to take a shuttle to reach her. There were some other returning personnel besides him. He found a seat and strapped himself in. A few minutes later he was on his way.

Alby leaned back and let out a long sigh. He could not believe he was really doing this. The eight days since he had gotten the news from Abbie had been like a dream. He watched himself doing things he never would have expected. But he had never hesitated. He was being driven by something he scarcely understood. _I'm definitely violating Rule Number One this time! I'm sticking my neck out for someone else and I sure hope I don't come to regret it!_

Just at the moment, Alby did not regret it at all. He felt nervous and excited, but he also felt better than he had in months. He knew it was crazy. He was giving up a comfortable job and a very comfortable lifestyle for the cramped quarters and dangerous conditions of a warship. And all for what could only be called a fool's errand.

The shuttle only took a few minutes to reach _Defiant_. Alby could not get a very good view of the ship from where he was sitting, but that did not bother him. He did not have Patric's fascination with ships and they all looked pretty much the same to him. By the time he could see much they were so close that it was just a wall of white-painted hull plates and armor that filled the viewport. Some of those plates looked newer than the others – repairs to battle damage, no doubt. This was the fourth ship in the Royal Navy – and the second in this war – to bear the name _Defiant_. The last one had been destroyed the very first day of the war, defending Hancock Station. Alby hoped the current ship would live to a ripe old age and meet its end in the breaker's yard and not in battle.

The shuttle was suddenly in the boat bay. Soon it was resting on the deck and a boarding tube was attached. Alby unbuckled his safety harness and grabbed his bag. The other passengers were all ratings and Alby dimly realized he should have taken the 'seat of honor' nearest the hatch and been the first one out, but he had no mind for that sort of nonsense. He lingered a moment to let the others debark ahead of him and then walked over to the hatch. He had never much liked free-fall, so he took a deep breath before launching himself down the zero-G boarding tube. For once he did a pretty good job and he floated down the tube towing his bag. He awkwardly grabbed the bar hanging down over the red warning stripe with one hand and swung himself into the artificial gravity of the ship. He nearly stumbled, but managed to keep his feet. He automatically turned to the officer who was standing there and saluted.

"Permission to c…"

Alby stopped dead in mid-syllable.

"Well hello, Alby," said the woman. "Fancy meeting you here."

It was Sandra Bennett.

**Chapter Twenty-Seven**

**A**cting Group Commander Helen Zilwicki watched through the armorplast viewport as the docking umbilicals reached out from the space station to connect with _HMS Hydra_. There were more than a dozen of them. Some were to transfer fuel; others would bring in supplies and munitions, while others were for personnel. At the moment, she was only interested in the personnel tubes. She was waiting by one of the airlocks with a small crowd of other people.

"God! I'll be glad to get ashore!" said Brevet Lieutenant (j.g.) Randy Huber. Several other people standing nearby echoed the sentiments.

"It has been a long haul," agreed Helen. "Almost five T-months since we left Manticore."

"And almost three more since I've been dirtside. I never thought I'd have such an urge to feel grass under my feet and breathe fresh air. I hope Talbot is all it's cracked up to be."

Helen nodded. She had a touch of Bulkhead Fever herself, but not to the extent that Randy seemed to have. From what she had read, Talbot had a reasonably pleasant environment. There would be fresh air and whatever passed for grass. And since the Alliance had liberated the planet from the Peeps, the locals had been going out of their way to show their appreciation. In addition to fresh air and grass, there should be plenty of other attractions to divert the weary crew of Task Force 42.

And they were weary, no doubt about that. After hitting Dalton, they had raided eight more systems on their long journey back to Alliance space. None of them had been as heavily defended as Dalton, but most had been tough enough to put up a fight. The Task Force had inflicted a lot of damage, but they had paid a price to do it.

They had lost a destroyer at Calran, although most of the crew had been saved, and several of the cruisers had taken damage, but it was the LACs who had borne the brunt of the losses. Nothing too heavy at any one place, but one here and two there added up after a while. _Hydra_ had lost a total of fifteen LACs during the operation. One of the casualties had been Lieutenant Commander Richard Adams, and Helen had inherited the command of One Group. She had been breveted to Lieutenant Commander, even though her promotion to senior grade lieutenant had not caught up with them yet – assuming it had even been approved.

A few months ago, Helen would have been pleased that she was rising through the ranks so quickly, but now she knew just what that rank was costing. When she had made her career plans, the positions she was aiming for had just been slots on a table of organization chart. Now that she knew the people who filled those slots, she was coming to understand just how outrageously expensive those pips on her collar really were.

There was a barely perceptible jolt as the personnel tube Helen had been watching finished locking itself to the side of the ship. After a few minutes the hatch swung open and the way into the space station was clear. An ensign and a pair of marines took position as a side party and began checking through the people who wanted to go ashore. Almost all the people in the line were from the LAC wing. _Hydra's_ crew would be busy for hours yet taking on supplies before they were allowed to go.

"There go the LAC jockeys. Always bugging out as soon as there is any work to do," said a passing rating to his companions. They laughed and a number of heads turned.

"Well, at least we stick around when there's any _fighting_ to do!" called back one of the LAC crewmen. There had been no humor intended in either of the comments and the man who made the original remark swung around with a curse.

Before it could go any further, Helen stepped out of the line.

"That's enough. All of you go on about your business." Helen glanced at her own people and then fixed her gaze on the crewman who had started it. He glared at her for a moment and then dropped his eyes.

"Aye, aye, ma'am," he muttered and then turned away.

Helen watched him and his friends walk off. One of them said something and the others laughed loudly, but Helen did not hear what was said. She turned and got back in the line, shaking her head.

"There's been too much of that lately," she said quietly to Randy Huber.

"I know," said Huber. "There have been a few fights, I've heard. I guess everyone is pretty tired. I hope a little shore leave will get it out of their systems."

"I hope so," said Helen.

They reached the head of the line, and the ensign checked them through. Helen and Randy launched themselves down the zero-G boarding tube and a few moments later they were on the space station. There, they had to be checked through again, first by Royal Navy personnel who were manning the station, and then by Talbot officials who were there to maintain the fiction that Talbot was really independent again. Officially, it was, but the Peeps had purged any semblance of a civil government during their occupation so thoroughly, that it would be years before the Alliance could turn things completely over to the locals.

The station itself had little in the way of recreation facilities – at least nothing that was not already available on _Hydra_. So they ended up waiting in lines again for the shuttles that would take them down to the surface. Helen wished they could have just used _Hydra's_ small craft, but there were standard procedures to be followed, and this was one of them. She spent the time talking with Randy.

"Have you noticed the mood in the squadron, Randy?" she asked.

"It's been a little grim, if that's what you mean."

"Yes, that's what I meant. Do you think it's just been the long mission, or is it the casualties, or is it something else?"

"Well, we've been lucky in the squadron as far as the casualties go," replied Huber. "Aside from losing Skip at Dalton, we haven't lost anybody. But they can see what's happened to the other squadrons. Squadron Eight, in particular, has been pretty sobering to everyone."

Helen nodded. In one action, _Hydra's_ Squadron Eight had run into an undetected minefield and lost four LACs in a few seconds. With both the squadron commander and the exec killed, Commander Lowell had broken up the survivors to fill in holes in the other squadrons. By now, everyone in the Wing had lost friends.

"I don't think it's just the casualties, though," continued Huber. "Or maybe it is the casualties, but more importantly: who's been taking them – and who hasn't."

"I was afraid of that," said Helen quietly. "I've seen it coming."

Randy stared at her for a moment, and then it was his turn to nod. "People in the Wing are starting to think that we are being forced to take the losses so that the other ships won't."

"I think that's it exactly," said Helen. "I mean that's what our people are thinking- it's not really a fair judgment. Admiral Stokes had to consider that if any of the starships took crippling damage they would have to be scuttled. It makes a lot more sense to send in the LACs than risk losing a major vessel."

"Kind of hard on us, though, Skipper," said Huber. "I mean, we all knew LAC duty was going to be dangerous, but I don't exactly like the idea that the admirals consider us expendable."

"I don't really think they do – at least I hope not," said Helen. "But it might be easy for it to seem that way from our viewpoint. It's bound to hurt morale if our people think we are just being thrown away – and I don't know what to do about it, Randy."

"I don't know, either, Skipper."

"You should really stop calling me that, you know," said Helen with a grin. "You're the 'skipper' now."

"Old habits die hard, Helen. And deep inside, I think you'll always be 'the Skipper' to me."

Helen continued to smile at the young man next to her. With her promotion to group leader, Helen no longer commanded _Black Magic_. She was still assigned to her, and she was Helen's command ship, but Randy Huber was now the skipper. It really did not hurt as much as she had expected. And Randy was proving to be as good a LAC commander as Helen thought he would.

The line for the shuttles advanced again, and Helen and Randy made it on to the next one. A few minutes later, they were heading down toward the surface of Talbot. From space, it looked like most habitable worlds: blue oceans, a hint of green and brown, and dazzlingly white clouds. When the shuttle broke through some of those clouds, Helen could see a large city nestled between a mountain range and the sea. As they got closer, the forests on the mountainside and the beaches along coast were plainly visible.

"Looks like what the doctor ordered to me," said Randy, peering past Helen to get a look.

Shortly, they had landed and gone through yet another checkpoint. Finally, they emerged from the spaceport and looked around. There were taxis and buses waiting and dozens of natives all advertising one establishment or another in the city. Everything from restaurants to entertainment of a far more personal nature. Helen and Randy opted for a regular bus that eventually dropped them off near the center of the city. Even without the influx from Task Force 42, the Alliance had a sizable naval presence on Talbot, and there were uniforms in evidence everywhere.

The city seemed clean and well kept up. Fortunately, under the threat of the Solarian League's Eridani Edict, cities rarely felt the brunt of war anymore. When the Alliance took the system, the Peep garrison surrendered with no resistance. That made Helen's surprise all the more when she saw a burned-out building off the city's central square. They walked over to it and saw a large memorial in front of the ruins. Reading the inscriptions, they learned that the building had once been the headquarters of the Peep's secret police. The liberators had not gotten here quickly enough to save the building or its occupants from the vengeance of Talbot's people. The memorial was in memory of the many locals who had gone into that building during the long occupation – but who had never left again. Helen and Randy stared at it for a while.

"I guess maybe what we're doing is worthwhile at that," said Huber. Helen nodded her head but said nothing.

It was early in the day and they were not due back until the following evening, so the pair just wandered for a while. The people were friendly, although most of them seemed to be promoting enjoyable ways of separating them from their money. With several months of accumulated pay in their accounts, they spent freely, sampling various local foods and drinks.

"Be careful, Helen, I'm pretty sure that has alcohol in it," said Randy pointing to the drink Helen had just ordered from a street vendor.

"Yup, it does," said Helen taking a sip. "I guess it won't hurt me this once."

"Well, I never would have believed it: _Hydra's_ tactical sorceress clouding her computer brain with booze!"

Randy's remark was meant in jest, and Helen knew it, but a sad look crossed her face.

"That's what people think of me isn't it, Randy? Just a TAC station with legs. No feelings. A machine that wears a uniform."

"Helen, I…I didn't mean…"

"Oh, I know you didn't, and I'm not hurt by what you said. But that is what most people think isn't it?"

"Well, maybe those that don't really know you very well…"

"Which is just about everyone but you, right?"

"I think a few other people on _'Magic_ know you pretty well. Skip did, too…"

"Skip's dead."

Huber did not say anything. Helen looked at him for a moment and then threw her hands up, sloshing half her drink on the sidewalk.

"Randy, I turned eighteen T-years two weeks ago. What the hell am I doing here? I should be home, thinking about college or planning for the senior class dance. I'm a brevet lieutenant commander with twenty-nine LACs under my command. By my rough guess, I've been personally responsible for the deaths of about six thousand Peeps. I've never been on a date or kissed a man, but I've killed six thousand Peeps! How should I feel about that? I don't even know how I'm _supposed_ to feel about that!"

"Helen, are you all right?" The alarm in Huber's voice was plain.

"I don't know," she said, turning away. "I…I'm just so tired. I've been working for this since I was five years old and now that I've got it, I'm so tired."

"It's been a long cruise, Helen. You need some rest. We all need some rest." Randy came over and put his hand on her shoulder.

Helen turned and smiled at Randy.

"Yes, you're right. Sorry about that. Randy, I think I want to walk alone for a bit, if you don't mind. See you later?"

"Well, sure, Skipper, if that's what you want. I've got my compad if you want to get in touch with me for dinner or something." There was a worried frown on his face.

"Sounds good. I'll see you." Helen turned and walked away. She could feel Huber's eyes on her, but she did not look back. _That was a stupid thing to do. I don't know why I did that. But I am tired._

She _was_ tired. The nightmares were starting again and she wasn't sleeping well. They were different nightmares now. For years they had been about her mother and father. Terrifying screams and sobs and her futile efforts to fight off some unseen menace that was threatening them. Then, after her 'prentice cruise, they had been fewer but Anny was occasionally there, too. Sometimes Anny was helping her, but more often Anny was being menaced with her parents. During the hard work to get her LAC and her squadron ready for action, the nightmares almost stopped. But now they were back again. And there were some new faces along with Anny and her parents. For years she had convinced herself that once she actually started killing Peeps, the nightmares would end. But they had not. And now there were even a few Peep faces in her dreams. _I suppose I'll have to go and talk to the psych people at some point. Not that they can do much. _

Helen walked without paying much attention to her surroundings. She finished what was left of her drink and felt a little lightheaded. _There must have been more alcohol in that than I thought. Glad I spilled half of it._

The sun rose towards noon, and Helen reached a park. She sat down on a bench and watched the people walk past. There were young people and old people, and hardly a uniform to be seen. Their clothing was a riot of color and they made no effort to stay in step or keep their ranks straight. Most of them smiled when they saw her and nodded their heads respectfully. A group of children were playing a game that might have been soccer in an open field in front of her bench. Helen watched them. They looked about the age she had been when she went to the Academy. Maybe a little younger, but not much.

_Could I have ever done that? Just played for the fun of it? As long as I can remember everything I did was for a purpose. Never a wasted motion. Everything was to get ready for the Academy and then to get ready to kill Peeps. Do I regret my decisions? Not really. I do love the Navy. I would have joined in any case…even if my mom hadn't been killed. But it might have been nice to have some friends – and just play sometimes._

"Hey, are you a Mantie?" said a voice to her side.

Helen turned and saw a boy standing next to the bench and staring at her. She guessed that he was about twelve T-years old, but it was hard to tell. He had that black hair and olive complexion that seemed to be very common among the people of Talbot. His big brown eyes were staring into her gray ones.

"Yes, I suppose I am," she answered. "My name is Helen, what's yours?"

"Emil. Have you killed any Peeps?" The question was utterly innocent, and it did not shock Helen as much as it should have.

"I've been in a few battles. I suppose I've killed a few, but never face to face."

"I want to kill Peeps when I grow up. My uncle killed some during the riots, but I want to be in the Navy and kill them like you do. Missiles and grasers—kapow!"

"I hope you never have to, Emil," said Helen in a near-whisper.

"Why not? The Peeps are the bad guys. We're supposed to kill 'em. What kind of ship are you on, Helen?"

"I command a group of Light Attack Craft."

"Really? _Shrikes_ I'll bet! You on a carrier? There's a big task force that's just arrived; you with them?"

"Yes, I just got here." Helen was smiling. The boy's non-stop barrage of questions reminded her of herself about ten years earlier when her Aunt Sylvie came to visit.

Emil moved around in front of her and began looking at her uniform. "You're a Lieutenant?"

"Lieutenant Commander, actually, although that's just a temporary promotion. You can see the pips on my collar, but I haven't changed the gold rings on my sleeves.

"Oh yeah! And there's your LAC pin! What are these other things?"

"Well, the little one is called a 'survivor's pin'. The ship I was on once was destroyed, but I got out alive. This is my unit patch. You are right: I serve on a carrier, _HMS Hydra_. And this red stripe is called a wound stripe. I got a little banged up on that ship that was destroyed and they gave me this."

"What's this one on your chest?"

"Oh, that's a ribbon for a medal they call the CGM."

"CGM, what's that?"

Helen smiled. "Do you ever stop asking question, Emil?"

"Nope. What's a CGM?"

"It stands for 'Conspicuous Gallantry Medal'."

"Really? Wow! You were a hero or something?"

"Not really," said Helen shaking her head. "I just did what I had to do. Some other folks thought it was brave, I guess, but I just did what I had to."

Before Emil could come up with another question, the ball the other children had been kicking came bounding over and bounced off the bench a few centimeters from where Helen was sitting. In an instant she was surrounded by a small mob of kids and they were all asking the same set of questions as Emil. For the next ten minutes she tried to answer as many of them as she could.

"Enough!" she laughed after a while. "Let me ask a question: What was that game you were playing with the ball?"

"Soccer," answered several of them at once.

"Could you show me how to play?" asked Helen.

"Sure! C'mon!"

Helen got up from the bench and followed the children to the open field. The rules for their version of soccer were a bit different than what Helen was used to, but they were very patient with her and she was soon running up and down the field with them laughing and whooping. Not much later she was gasping for breath and wiping sweat out of her eyes.

_Wow, I'm out of shape! I need to start working out again! _Helen had not gotten much exercise lately except for her walks on the boat bay gallery. She had not practiced her martial arts since she left the Academy.

"You can't be tired already!" shouted one of the kids as she ran past with the ball. Helen dashed after her.

It was more fun than she had had in she did not know how long. She also discovered that what passed for grass on Talbot left some amazing green stains on hands and knees when you fell down on it. The children shrieked with laughter when they saw what she had done to her uniform. She just laughed along with them.

Finally she collapsed in the shade under a large tree and the kids sat down with her. Emil was demanding some war stories and she was trying to figure how to avoid that when one of the children noticed that her compad was beeping.

_Probably Randy checking up on me, _she thought as she pulled the device out of its belt holder.

But it was not Randy. It was a priority recall of all personnel to the ship. The ship's own small craft would be landing at the spaceport and all personnel were to report there immediately.

_A courier was due in today with the mail. It must have brought some important orders._

"What is it?" asked Emil.

"I have to report back to the ship right away. Thank you all very much for the game." Helen got to her feet.

"Aw, do you have to?" said Emil. "I wanted to hear some of your stories!"

"Sorry, Emil. I've got to follow orders. Maybe I'll be able to come back some time."

"You'll never be back here again," he said looking sadly down at the ground. Helen realized it was no use trying to lie to him.

"No, probably not. But I'll always remember all of you. And here's something to remember me by, Emil." She took off her beret and plunked it on the astonished boy's head.

"Wow! Can I really have it?"

"Yes," she said, but immediately regretted it because all the other children demanded something, too. She could see she had to appease them, or Emil was going to have a hard time keeping that beret once she left. One by one, she took off every pin and patch on her uniform and handed them out. She was glad it was a different set of insignia than the ones her Aunt Sylvia had pinned on her so long ago – she would not want to lose those. Eventually they were satisfied, but she was now dressed in a featureless black suit with green stains on the knees. She even had to pull off most of the gold braid.

"I really have to go now," she said.

"Thanks, Helen!" said Emil. "Good luck and good hunting!"

Helen smiled and waved as she walked away. Emil's navy mania reminded her a bit of Patric.

She was a long way from the spaceport, so Helen summoned a taxi and got there in just a few minutes. Or rather, she got to within about a half a kilometer. It seemed like every taxi and bus in the city was converging on the spaceport, and they were all filled with navy and marine personnel.

_My God! They must be recalling the entire task force! Something big must be happening!_

Rather than try and find a way through the traffic, Helen paid the driver and got out and walked. A lot of other people had the same thought and she slowly wove her way between the stalled vehicles. Those that were countergravity capable began lifting out of the jam, but many were ground cars and could not.

Helen checked her compad again and she saw that some order was being drawn out of the chaos. Areas of the landing field were being divided up by ship. The small craft were landing in those areas and their people were supposed to meet them there. Helen spotted where _Hydra's_ personnel were supposed to gather and worked her way toward it. All the gates in the fence around the field had been thrown open and she eventually got out on to the vast expanse of ceramicrete.

Shuttles and cutters and pinnaces were dropping down in large numbers – a veritable swarm of them. Helen had to detour around several of the other ships' landing sites to reach her spot. There was a pretty good crowd waiting by the time she got there. Just as she did, a marine assault pinnace came in to land. It had _Hydra's_ call numbers painted on the side and the people started getting aboard.

"Helen!"

She turned and saw Randy Huber in the crowd. She smiled as he came over to her. He was smiling, too until he got a good look at her.

"What the Hell happened to you!?" he asked, staring at her in disbelief.

She looked down at the remains of her uniform and just shrugged. "It's a long story."

"Are you all right?"

"Yes. In fact I'm better than I've been in a long time," she answered, and she meant it. The romp with the children had done her more good than a dozen sessions with the psych people.

"Any idea what's going on here?" she asked.

"Not a clue, but someone's in a Hell of a hurry."

The first pinnace was filled and lifted off with a shriek of turbines and was quickly replaced by a second one. Helen and Randy made it aboard and strapped themselves in.

"All I can say is, this had better be good," said Huber testily. "I was in the midst of some very delicate negotiations when the recall came!"

[Scene Break]

Five hours later, Task Force 42 was racing for the hyper limit. Helen and Randy emerged from the main briefing room with a crowd of angry and bewildered LAC jockeys.

"Can you believe this?" said one loudly. "A whole task force diverted to search and rescue?"

"There must be someone pretty damn important on that ship," said another.

"I don't care if it's the flippin' Crown Prince! This is ridiculous! After all we've been through and they tear us away from our first liberty for S&R."

There was a chorus of agreeing voices and other assorted grumbles.

"Randy," said Helen quietly. "If we thought things were touchy around here before, it's just gotten a hundred times touchier. None of _Hydra's_ crew even made it ashore, and now this. We are really going to have to be on our toes."

"I read you, Helen. But I've got to admit that I'm not exactly jumping for joy over this, myself."

"I know, it's a tough break. I can't imagine why we are doing this, but I hope someone knows what they're about."

"Well, I think I'm going to try and get a little sleep. Are we meeting in the morning to go over the revised group schedule?"

"Yes, 0900. I'll see you then."

Helen and Randy parted and she headed back to her quarters. She was still feeling pretty good. This sudden change in plans had her puzzled and she was worried about the morale of her people. But then the image of an astonished Emil peering at her from under her beret popped into her mind and she smiled.

She entered her quarters and shut the hatch behind her. She waved on the lights and walked over to her bunk. She picked up the remains of the uniform she had been wearing and shook her head. _The tailor shop is going to be puzzled over this! At least I had time to change after I got back aboard._

She tossed the tunic and trousers into the laundry hamper and then sat down at her desk. The mail courier had arrived and had, in fact, brought the mail in addition to their mystifying orders.

There were a number of official communiqués, but the only one that really affected her was the confirmation of her promotion to senior grade lieutenant. She breezed over the rest of them and tagged the ones she would need to re-read more carefully later. Then she turned to the personal messages. There were a half dozen letters from her father and four more from her Aunt Sylvie. In addition, there were three from Alby. She had hoped that there would be something from Anny or Patric, but there was not. _They must be away from base and out of communications._

She read the latest letters from her father and Sylvia Thayer first to make sure that everything was all right. Her father mentioned that he was being considered for flag rank and command of one of the new construction yards. Helen smiled at that. Aunt Sylvie's letter was a little strange. She was all right, but she wrote that she had something she needed to talk to her about when she got back to Manticore. It seemed to be a day for mysteries.

Then she called up Alby's most recent letter. She wondered what he had been up to and how his grandfather was doing. Alby's letters were always amusing, but after reading only a few lines, Helen was suddenly alert and peering at the screen intently.

_Dear Helen,_

_When I 'upgraded' the word processing software, I never thought I'd have anything secret to send you, but what I'm about to write really is Top Secret. I'm afraid I have some very bad news…_

Helen's eyes scanned down the screen rapidly and the words seemed to hammer into her like physical blows. She reached the end and then went back and read it again. She hoped she had misunderstood. That it was a mistake or one of Alby's jokes. But it wasn't. She finished a second time and her head sagged. She closed her eyes.

"Anny, no…" she whispered.

That night, she had another nightmare. In it, she struggled futilely against some unseen threat that was menacing her mother and her father and Anny and Patric and a black-haired boy named Emil.

**Chapter Twenty-Eight**

"**S**ir? I think I may have something here," said Lieutenant (j.g.) Alby Hinsworth.

"Oh?" said Commander Bryan MacDonald, first officer of _HMS Defiant_. "Put it on the main viewer."

"Aye, aye, sir," replied Alby from his position at the sensor station on _Defiant's _bridge. He manipulated his controls and the information he was looking at was put up on the large holo-display at the front of the compartment.

"It's just a tiny fluctuation in the grav readings, sir. I've been watching it for a few minutes now. At first I thought it might only be some eddies off the edge of the grav wave, but it's too regular for that."

"Hmm," mused MacDonald, rubbing his chin. "I don't know if that's enough of a trace to justify breaking out of our search pattern. We'll be coming back through that area in a few hours anyway."

"But, sir," said Alby, "It's bearing is changing as we move and it seems to have its own vector as well. It's about nineteen light minutes away and moving about point two cee."

"Really? Why didn't you say so from the start? Very well." MacDonald touched a button on the arm of his command chair. "Bridge to captain," he said.

Only a few seconds passed before there was a reply. "Loehlin here. What is it Mister MacDonald?"

"We've got a faint sensor track here, ma'am. Could be a ship. It definitely is not acting like a natural phenomenon."

"Change course to investigate. Maintain stealth mode. I'll be right there."

"Aye aye, ma'am. Helm, come right to two-one-eight by three-nine. Ahead at one hundred gravities."

"Aye aye, sir," said the helmsman.

Alby continued to watch the contact on his own board and told himself not to get excited. It was probably nothing. The odds against it being Anny and Patric's ship were astronomical. After all, they had only been in the search area for a few days after their high speed run from Manticore. _That_ had been pretty exciting. Time was clearly of the essence and Captain Loehlin had taken _Defiant_ into the upper reaches of the Theta band and reached Holiway in less than three weeks. After refueling and getting an update on the search efforts, they had hypered out and then begun a slow backtrack on the edges of the grav wave the missing ship had been in. They were assigned to the Delta bands. Other ships would be searching the adjoining hyper bands. Even with dozens of ships involved in the search, Alby was coming to realize just how hopeless a job this really was. The volume of hyperspace surrounding the grav wave was enormous and when you considered the thousands of microbands within the half-dozen major hyper bands the ship could be in, it became truly daunting. There were a number of set microbands within each major band that were designated as a standard for ships in distress to go to, but that assumed the ship was capable of getting to them. _Defiant_ had been sweeping up and down through the Delta band regularly on its journey in hopes of spotting something. The blip on Alby's monitor was the first thing anyone had seen.

After a few minutes Captain Loehlin arrived on the bridge. Commander MacDonald got out of the command chair and she sat down.

"Status, Commander?" she said. There was the tiniest lisp in her voice and Alby had been told that it was the result of some gruesome injuries she had suffered years before while in Silesia.

"Mister Hinsworth noticed a slight fluctuation in the grav readings and brought it to my attention, ma'am. The source is around nineteen light minutes away, on a heading oh-nine-one, by two-two. We have changed course to intercept."

"Nineteen light minutes? You have sharp eyes, Mister Hinsworth."

"Thank you, ma'am," said Alby. He was pleased by the compliment, and pleased the Captain had spoken to him. He had had little contact with Captain Loehlin since he came aboard. He was on the second watch and the Captain only checked up on them occasionally. She had made no indication that she was displeased with his presence, but then she had made no indication about any feelings at all toward him, either.

A few minutes passed and _Defiant_ bent her vector around onto an intercept course and the range began to fall. After another twenty minutes there was no more doubt about what they had spotted.

"Definitely a ship, ma'am," said Alby. "I'm getting good readings on an impeller drive."

"Is there any indication they've spotted us?" asked Loehlin.

"No, ma'am, their course has not varied at all – not that that means anything."

"Time to intercept?" Loehlin directed this question to the astrogator.

"Two hours until closest approach, Captain," replied the officer.

"They could spot us any minute, ma'am," said Alby. "We'll certainly show up on their sensors within the next thirty minutes at most."

"Yes. Very well." She turned to the communications officer. "Ms. Robinson, alert the crew that we will be going to general quarters in twenty minutes. That will give them time to get something to eat if they want. And warm up the grav-com system."

"Aye aye, ma'am."

More time went by and still the target made no indication they had spotted _Defiant_. Finally, Captain Loehlin stirred in her chair.

"Ms. Robinson, sound battle stations."

That awful sound howled through the ship. Most of the crew was probably already in their skinsuits and it was only a minute or two before the prime bridge watch came to relieve them. As Alby turned his station over to Lieutenant Meyers, the Captain called out to him:

"Oh, Mister Hinsworth. Once you've got your skinsuit on, stick around. You were the one who spotted it, you should at least get to see what we've found."

"Yes, ma'am!" said Alby with a grin. He went to the small antechamber that was attached to the bridge. There were a series of lockers where the bridge crews stowed their skinsuits when they were on watch and where they could put their uniforms after they changed. It was more dignified than having a gaggle of naked officers on the bridge. While he was pulling off his uniform, the Captain's steward arrived with her skinsuit, but she did not come in to put it on. Alby quickly made the change and then came back onto the bridge. _Defiant_ had a large, spacious bridge with a number of spare command console's Alby sat at one and configured it in sensor mode and continued to track the target, even though Meyers was the official sensor officer now. He also alerted his superior down in Sensor One that he would not be reporting to his usual battle station.

"Still no reaction from the target?" asked Loehlin. Of all the people on the bridge, she was the only one still in her regular uniform.

"No, ma'am. The range is down to thirteen light minutes."

"I think there are going to be some red faces aboard that ship," said Loehlin with a grin. "Ms. Robinson, send out our recognition code on the grav-com and request a reply."

"Aye aye, ma'am."

The drive nodes on the impeller rings stuttered out a message that reached the target instantaneously. It was about three minutes before they received a reply.

"Message coming in, ma'am." There was a barely perceptible sigh of relief –and disappointment- around the bridge. The fact that the target had a grav-com system was enough to identify it as a friendly ship. As far as anyone knew, the Peeps had still not managed to duplicate the Alliance technology. However, it also confirmed that it was not the missing ship – a prize vessel that also lacked the grav-com system.

"They identify themselves as the _GNS Devotion_, heavy cruiser. Their recognition codes match up, ma'am, they're legitimate."

"Excellent. Tell them we will close to within practical radio distance and we can exchange information on the search. No point in searching places they have already been. And you can also stand the ship down from general quarters."

"Aye aye, ma'am."

Alby went back into the anteroom and changed back into his uniform. _She knew they were friendly from the start! Otherwise she would have changed, too. _Alby shook his head. Well, rank did have its privileges. He went back to his station and relieved Meyers. He had another two and a half-hours on his watch.

"Commander MacDonald, please call me when the range is down to fifteen light seconds," said Loehlin, who got up and stretched.

"Yes, Captain, will do."

Captain Jennifer Loehlin headed for the bridge exit but then stopped.

"By the way, Mister Hinsworth, that was a good job. It also occurs to me that we have not had time to properly meet each other. I like to get to know all of my officers. Would you join me at dinner in the Senior Officers' Mess, tonight?"

"Of course, Captain," said Alby in surprise. "I'd be honored."

"Excellent. 1900 hours, and this is not a mess dress affair."

[Scene Break]

The dinner was…interesting.

In addition to Alby and Captain Loehlin, there were a half-dozen other senior officers present. The food was excellent and the captain of the Grayson cruiser had sent over several bottles of wine in an unspoken admission that _Defiant_ had caught them napping. Since Alby had made that possible, he was toasted by all the rest. Alby was comfortable enough: he was used to traveling in the circles of power on Manticore and this was not that much different. He was able to make small talk with the commanders and lieutenant commanders he shared the table with and he executed the toast to the Queen without a hitch.

But his attention was focused mainly on his captain. She listened more than she talked, but she could tell a good joke, and after a few glasses of the wine, seemed to loosen up considerably. Alby had researched her career before coming aboard and it was a bit unusual. She had started off in the Royal Marines, but after losing an arm and suffering a number of other injuries while in Silesia, she had transferred to the Navy. Alby watched her right hand carefully during the meal. It was a prosthetic, but it seemed entirely natural. Loehlin, like Alby, was among the thirty percent of humanity that did not respond to regeneration therapy. Alby had a horror at the thought of losing parts of himself to the war. Captain Loehlin did not seem handicapped by her loss, but Alby still shivered slightly at the thought of it ever happening to him.

As the meal wound down, Captain Loehlin was telling a rather improbable story about her experiences aboard a frigate many years ago in Silesia. Alby had heard other tales about that pirate infested, rough-and-tumble region of space. If even half of them were true, it must have been a remarkably exciting – and dangerous—place to be stationed. Just the sort of place Alby would never voluntarily get within a hundred parsecs of.

Most of the dishes were cleared away by the stewards and coffee was served. Captain Loehlin finished her story and the other officers got to their feet and wished her a good evening. Alby did likewise, but she put out a hand – the right one.

"Mister Hinsworth, stay a moment, would you?"

"Of course, ma'am," he said and returned to his chair. He had halfway expected her to do this. She had said very little to him during dinner and if she wanted to get to know him better…

"So, I understand you were roommates with my niece at the Academy," she said when the others had left the room.

"Yes, ma'am. Helen and I were roommates all four forms. We were on the same ship on our 'prentice cruise, too."

"Yes, I certainly heard about that," she said, shaking her head. "A pretty terrible way to get introduced to naval life. A hard thing to lose your ship – and a lot of friends." Alby was looking at the Captain's tunic and he noticed for the first time that among her rows of ribbons – both Navy and Marine ribbons – were two survivor's pins. _She's been through that twice? Once was plenty for me!_

'Were you and Helen good friends?"

"We were…friends, ma'am. Helen never really let anyone get very close to her, but yes, we were friends. Still are, actually."

"I'm glad to hear that. Have you heard from her lately?"

"No ma'am. The last letter I got was over five months ago. She said she thought they were heading out for an extended mission – a deep raid perhaps, so I'm hoping that is why I haven't heard from her."

"Yes, that was what she told me." Loehlin looked down at the table and toyed with the spoon by her coffee cup. After a few moments she looked up.

"Helen's mother and I were never very close, I'm afraid. I never really knew young Helen at all while she was growing up. When she went to the Academy, however, she began writing to me and we've had a pretty good correspondence ever since. Her father worries about her, particularly her lack of friends or a social life. I'm glad she made some friends at the Academy."

"She and I are friends," said Alby. "I think she was pretty close to Anny Payne, though -–especially after the cruise."

"Yes, she mentioned Ms. Payne quite a bit in her letters. She sounds like an amazing individual. I hope I get a chance to meet her someday."

A chill went through Alby. "Yes, ma'am, I hope you do get that chance."

"She mentioned you a good bit in her letters, too, Mister Hinsworth. I must say you have been quite a bit…different from what I was expecting."

"Well, I have changed a little since the Academy, ma'am," said Alby. He grinned nervously, thinking about the things Helen might have told her aunt.

"I can see that. When I got the orders transferring you to my ship, I could not help but worry about what sort of computer 'anomalies' we were going to end up having. I'm pleased that nothing of that sort has happened. In fact, the reports I'm getting tell me that your performance has been exemplary."

"Thank you, ma'am. I'm trying to do my job and not to cause you any trouble."

Loehlin took a sip of her coffee and stared at him over the rim of the cup.

"You have not caused me any trouble, Mister Hinsworth, but I must admit you have caused me quite a bit of puzzlement."

"Ma'am?"

"Surely you must realize that your sudden assignment to this ship hardly has the marks of a routine transfer. Helen had already told me of your dislike for shipboard duty. You are the grandson of the Second Space Lord, you were working for her in ONI, and now here you are. And my own sources tell me that the transfer orders came right from the top – meaning Admiral Givens. Somebody clearly wants you on this ship. You can't expect me not to wonder about that."

"Uh, I suppose not, ma'am," said Alby uneasily.

"Combine that with this mysterious search and rescue mission – and the sealed orders I have to be opened only if we find the missing ship, and it makes quite a puzzle. I don't suppose you can enlighten me on any of this, Mister Hinsworth?"

"Not really, ma'am."

"You can't, or you won't? I'm not asking you to violate any orders you may have from the admiral, but where the safety of my ship is concerned, I want to know everything I can about my mission."

"Ma'am, there is not a great deal I could tell you that you don't already know…"

"Meaning that there is _something_ that you _could_ tell me about this that I don't know," interrupted Loehlin.

"Er, well, yes, ma'am. I'm not really at liberty to disclose anything to you. I'm sorry about that. I will tell you, however, that what I do know, would in no way affect the safety of this vessel, whether I tell you or not." Alby had been expecting to be questioned like this at some point, and he had prepared his responses beforehand. "Also, that I have no secret function here, either. I'm the sensor operator on the second watch, and that's all."

Captain Loehlin looked at him closely, with a small frown, for several moments. Finally, she leaned back in her chair and sighed.

"Well, I suppose I'll have to accept that. In any case, welcome aboard _Defiant_, Mister Hinsworth. I hope you are finding life here tolerable?"

"Thank you, ma'am. Yes, no problems at all."

"Good. We have quite a few new crew members besides yourself. We lost nearly a third of our people during our last action, and it is always a little awkward integrating the replacements into the old crew."

Alby looked at his captain. There had been only the smallest hint of the pain she must have felt at the memory of those casualties. He could tell it was there, however, buried deep, but still there. He nodded.

"Everyone has been great, ma'am. I hope I can become a part of the team."

"You seem to have the proper attitude; that's good to see." Loehlin hesitated for a moment and had a strange look on her face. "I understand that there is at least one other person aboard that you know from the Academy. I hope that is not causing any…problems?"

Alby was a little surprised. She was obviously referring to Sandra Bennett. He knew that an awful lot of people had seen the HD of the elaborate practical joke he had played on her and her friends while they were at the Academy, but somehow he never really expected the memory of that to last as long as it apparently had.

"No, ma'am. In fact I've hardly even seen…the other person."

"Good. When I learned you were coming aboard I informed her that no trouble would be tolerated. Still, it might be better if you two could bury the hatchet, so to speak."

"I'm certainly willing, Captain," said Alby. "I'm not entirely sure how to go about it, but I'll give it some thought."

"You do that. Well, this has been pleasant and I'm glad we had a chance to talk. I'm afraid I have to get some things done, however, so I'll say good night."

Captain Loehlin got up from her chair and Alby was out of his at the same instant.

"Thank you, for the dinner, ma'am, and the conversation."

"Your welcome. Good night, Mister Hinsworth.

"Good night, ma'am."

[Scene Break]

Alby left the Senior Officers' Mess and wandered down to the Junior Officers' Wardroom. He did not particularly feel like going back to his quarters just yet, so he found a comfortable chair in a corner and slouched into it. He had quite a bit to think about. Not just about his conversation with Captain Loehlin, but about the last few weeks aboard the ship.

What the captain had said about computer 'anomalies' had startled Alby a little. Not that she had known about the ones he had arranged at the Academy, but the fact that there had been none aboard _Defiant_ since his arrival. He had not felt the slightest urge to arrange any. Not just here, but for months before. _I guess I really have changed._ Alby felt a strange sadness. It was like leaving something important behind, some last link with the childhood he had so desperately clung to when he was forced off to the Academy. His elaborate practical jokes had been the one means of protest at his disposal. The one thing he could do to tell the world that he was not giving in without a fight. _But I guess I did give in after all, didn't I?_

He took a dispassionate look at his activities for the last few months and he had to admit that there was almost no trace of the old Alby Hinsworth. It vaguely bothered him, but at the same time there was no temptation to resume his old ways. He was doing something he considered important. He was doing something he wanted to do. The fact that it was what his grandparents also wanted should have bothered him, but it did not.

He shook his head. _What's happened to me? Is it just because I want to find Anny and Patric? Or am I really becoming a responsible officer – what a scary thought!_

For most cadets who went to the Academy the final rite of passage, the final transition from child to adult, came on the parade ground of Saganami Island. For some it was when they swore the Oath of Loyalty to the Queen. For others it was at graduation when they exchanged their gray cadet uniform for the space-black uniform of a commissioned officer. For Alby Hinsworth it happened while he was sitting in a comfortable chair in the junior officer's wardroom aboard _HMS Defiant_ a zillion kilometers from anywhere.

Alby sighed. _Well, I'll just have to make the best of this, too._

He caught the eye of a steward and ordered a drink. When it came he drank a silent toast to himself and to his friends – his absent friends.

He had just decided to head back to his quarters when he saw Sandra Bennett walk into the wardroom. She went to the bar and got a drink. She did not see Alby in the corner and presently she sat down by herself with her back to him. Alby watched her.

He and Sandra had not exchanged a word after their unexpected meeting in the boat bay. He had seen her a few times, but neither of them had even acknowledged the presence of the other. She was in command of the portside energy battery and Alby's job never brought him in contact with her. Sandra's parentage had gotten her a promotion from ensign to lieutenant (j.g.) just as Alby's had, but fortunately, he had gotten his two weeks earlier than she. Even though she had graduated almost two thousand places higher in class rank, Alby now had seniority over her. There was no way she could use her rank to exact any sort of revenge on Alby – he was safe from her.

Alby sat and thought about their time at the Academy. Sandra had been a snooty bitch for sure. She considered herself the social queen of the class and surrounded herself with a gang of sycophants. The fact that she was rich, of high birth, and also amazingly beautiful had made that easy. When Anny Payne had shown no interest in becoming one of Sandra's admirers, she had turned nasty and done her best to hurt Anny. She, along with her chief admirer, an arrogant boy named Archie Lansdorff had almost driven Anny out of the Academy. They had not succeeded, but they had roused Alby's anger. He really liked Anny and he decided to strike back. His elaborate prank during the Academy Simulator Competition had utterly humiliated Bennett and her friends. That had led to an incredible fist fight that had gotten them all brigged. It was one of Alby's proudest moments from the Academy.

He still did not regret what he had done, but he had done a better job than he had ever imagined. Over two years later, people were still talking about it. Bennett's life in the Navy must be rather unpleasant at times because of it.

Alby got up from his chair. _Well, the captain asked me to try and bury the hatchet, I suppose I can start right now._

He walked over to where Bennett was sitting and plopped down in a chair opposite her.

"Hi Sandra. How are you doing?"

Bennett was startled and a look of anger passed over her face. She glanced around briefly, but then got control of herself and smiled sweetly.

"Well, hello, Alby. I'm fine. Where have you been keeping yourself?"

"The bridge, mostly. I saw you sitting here and I thought I'd come over and talk about old times."

Her smile faded. "Old times? Alby, what game are you up to now? What 'old times' could I possibly want to talk to you about?"

Alby winced slightly, but at the same time, he looked at her more closely. There was a pain in her voice that was a surprise to him. There were faint lines around her eyes and she looked older – much older – than he remembered.

"Hmmm, well, I guess you've got me there, Sandra. We were never friends, were we?"

"Not hardly."

"But it wasn't my idea to be your enemy either, Sandra."

"Well you certainly did a good job for not trying!" Her voice was sharp and angry and her eyes glinted.

"You were hurting my friends. You and your pals. I hit back the only way I knew how. Maybe I overdid it, but you had it coming."

Bennett started an angry retort, but cut it off. Then she sighed. "Let's just drop the subject, Alby."

"Fine by me. It was a long time ago, anyway."

"A lifetime."

Alby was faintly surprised that Bennett had not stomped off yet. This was going better than he had expected. He did not think they were going to "bury the hatchet" right now, but it was a promising start. He did not really care if she ever forgave him, but he did not want her to actively hate him either.

"Speaking of pals, how's old Archie doing these days?"

Bennett's face went pale and she got up out of her chair. She was shaking slightly.

"Archie's dead, Alby."

She turned and walked out of the wardroom, leaving Alby to stare after her.

**Chapter Twenty-Nine**

**T**he buzzer on Anny Payne's comp terminal refused to stop and she reluctantly opened her eyes. She reached out and hit the ''audio only" button that was mounted next to her bunk.

"Payne here, go ahead."

"Bridge, Daley here, ma'am. That contact has not altered course. It is now at three million klicks and still closing. You asked to be informed."

"Yes, thank you," said Anny. "I'll be there shortly. Please alert the senior staff."

"Right away, ma'am."

Anny cut the connection and then groaned as she rolled herself to a sitting position. She looked at the time and saw that she had gotten four hours sleep. Not too bad actually. She did some quick mental arithmetic and realized that she had plenty of time for a shower. The contact Daley had referred to was only closing at about ten kilometers per second, which put it over three days away from them. Still, it was getting too darn close to detection range and they were going to have to do something about it soon.

Anny stepped into the head and into the small shower. She put the water on a needle spray and let it tingle her awake. It was a small shower and she managed to bang her elbow –again!-against the wall as she washed herself. Sometimes she almost wished she had allowed the others to convince her to move into the captain's much more spacious cabin. But that had been Commander Brock's cabin and the thought of her sleeping in that bed while Michael Brock slept in a life support module down in sick bay was just too much.

She finished her shower, dried herself, and then quickly brushed her hair. This was no longer much of a chore. Her long brown hair that she had always taken such pride in was now cropped to shoulder length. There had just been no time to take care of it anymore and she and Chris Tropio had ruthlessly chopped it off several weeks ago. Patric had not been pleased. She brushed her teeth and then stepped back into the main cabin. She got clean underwear out of a cabinet and put it on. Then she picked up her uniform from where she had dropped it a few hours earlier. She decided it was still clean enough to wear and started pulling it on. When the prize crew for the ship had been assembled, only a handful of stewards had been included. After all, they would only be gone for three weeks, right? As a result, what stewards they had were stretched very thin. Even the commanding officer only got steward service two days a week.

While she dressed, she began worrying about what she was going to have to do next. _Why is that damn thing headed our way? With all the rocks and iceballs floating around out here, it could have chosen somewhere else to go. We've had to relocate twice already; I can't ask the crew to do that again. But the only other option is to capture or destroy it and that creates a lot of other problems._

Six weeks earlier the crippled starship, _Coeur de Lion_, had limped into this star system. It did not even have a name that they knew of, just a catalog number. At first, it had seemed like they had come to the right place. They had sent a sensor drone coasting sunward and it had detected hundreds of impeller sources. The amount of radio traffic indicated even larger numbers of small vessels. Most of them were in the system's extensive asteroid belt, but there were a lot scattered other places as well. Surely there would be refined fuel available in quantity…

But then they detected the Peeps. Radio messages that were definitely in Peep code were coming from the vicinity of the inhabited planet. That was disappointing, but hardly unexpected. They had drifted closer in-system and there was no doubt that the Peeps were around the planet in some numbers. The radio traffic from the asteroid belt was not using Peep codes, but much of it was coded. They did not know what that signified, but they had to assume that anyone they met here was potentially hostile.

Anny had briefly considered hypering out and trying somewhere else, but they could have only reached the next nearest inhabited system with virtually dry tanks and that would leave them with no options at all. So she decided to find an ice comet and start making fuel.

Their first thought was to try in the system's Oort Cloud, but Lieutenant VanVeen had pointed out that at that distance from the star, solar power would be too weak to be useful. If they found something closer in, they could produce the fuel much faster. So they had drifted inward. This system, like most systems, had a Kieper Belt of comets and asteroids. They found one that suited them and set up shop.

And had to move.

They discovered that for every impeller source or radio transmitter they had picked up in their initial scans, there were a dozen more that they had not seen. The system was crawling with small craft. The majority were in the asteroid belt, but there were plenty more in the Kieper belt. They had just gotten their first fuel plant operational when one of them had drifted their way. They had pulled up stakes and tried another location.

And had to move again.

They had moved further out and found an area that seemed less trafficked and set up operations a third time. That was three weeks ago and they were actually starting to get fuel in noticeable quantities. A half-dozen electrolysis plants were on line and VanVeen was building more. They had only extracted about one percent of what they would need, but the rate would get better with time.

But now, someone else was getting too close for comfort, and Anny had to decide what to do about it.

She finished dressing and inspected herself in the mirror. There were dark circles under her eyes, but that was standard issue for nearly everyone on the ship these days. They were all working so hard. After they got the last of the fuel plants operational, Anny planned to set up a three-watch schedule with not much more than a skeleton shift on each. That would let her people get some rest – but if they had to move again…

Anny put on her cap and left her quarters. She walked down the corridor and turned the corner. The marine sentry snapped to attention.

"Good morning, Harry," said Anny. There was only a single platoon of marines on the ship and by now, Anny knew virtually all the ones low ranking enough to have to stand sentry duty.

"Good morning, Captain," said the marine. Anny smiled at that. The marines all insisted on calling her "captain". She suspected it was Lieutenant Hickman's unspoken way of letting her know where he stood on the issue of her commanding the ship. Anny did not honestly think she was ever going to need marines to back up her authority, but it was nice to know they were there if she ever did.

As she got into the lift, she reflected that except for that first meeting after the fight, there had been no trouble at all over her commanding the ship. Terrence Daley seemed to accept that there was very little support for his view that Anny should not be in command and he had made no further attempts to get her to step down. He had not even protested when Anny appointed VanVeen as first officer. She had told him plainly that she needed someone who trusted _her_ as well as someone she could trust. Daley clearly did not have that trust in Anny and would not work as her executive officer. Daley had accepted without comment. He was still the second officer and was now also the TAC officer. Anny was relieved that in addition to making no more trouble, Daley was very good at the TAC station.

The lift doors opened and a few steps took her onto the bridge. Daley vacated the newly reconstructed command chair and stood respectfully with the other department heads who were already there. Anny walked over to the chair, but did not sit down.

"Good morning, everyone. Sorry to make it such an early morning, but our friend out there is still headed our way and we need to decide what we ought to do about it."

"Ma'am," said Philip VanVeen, "If we have to keep relocating our operation, we are never going to make any progress at filling our tanks. We may have to just grit our teeth and try and take this fellow out."

"What do you mean by 'take out', sir?" asked Patric. "The indications are this is some sort of prospecting ship. I don't like the idea of destroying a civilian craft."

"Well, neither do I, Patric," replied VanVeen. "But I don't know if we could capture them before they could get off a message. If they report us to the Peeps, we might have a hard time finding another location."

"If we just destroy them, someone may come looking for them," said Daley. "If we could capture them intact, we might be able to fake any sort of normal radio traffic and keep anyone from missing them for a long time."

"Yes," said Anny. "I would favor that for a number of reasons. We don't want to kill any civilians if we can avoid it. Also, if we could capture them, we can get some information on the situation around here. I don't think it is quite as straightforward as it seems."

"The question is: Can we capture them without warning?" asked Lieutenant Brown.

"I think there is a good chance of getting in close undetected," said Lieutenant Pickering, the sensor officer. "They are drifting along pretty slowly and only using their active sensors periodically. I've been monitoring them for several days. They put out a radar pulse about once an hour. We might be able to slip someone in on one of the small craft between pulses. Of course, what they'll do when we show up in their laps is another question."

"Ma'am?" Anny looked and saw Senior Chief Peter McColgin looking back at her. McColgin was the acting head of Flight Operations and all of _Coeur de Lion's_ small craft. It was normally the job of a commissioned officer, but they were short on officers at the moment.

"Yes, Chief?"

"I grew up in Grayson's asteroid belt, ma'am. My family have been belters for generations. That ship out there has all the marks of an independent prospector. From what Lieutenant Pickering has told me about its probable size, I could guess that it might have a crew of a few dozen. If these folks here are anything like back home, there's a good chance it is a whole extended family that live aboard as well as work. If that's the case, they aren't likely to do anything too foolish. Belters who do foolish things don't last too long."

"I see," said Anny. "And what do you think are chances are of sneaking up on them, Chief?"

"I would say pretty good, ma'am. A prospector isn't a warship. As much as I hate to admit it, watches are pretty lax, usually. The only danger to watch for is some rogue bit of debris that might hit the ship. A typical prospector would keep up a spherical radar search, but it would be low power and only range out to ten thousand klicks or so. That's plenty of range for things that are only going to be closing at a few klicks per second at max. The search radar is usually on automatic and would only sound an alarm if something were on a collision course. Those stronger pulses that the Lieutenant has been picking up are the actual prospecting searches. They are looking for a worthwhile rock to mine. I doubt that they have any sort of gravitic or passive sensors on line – if they even have them at all – that stuff costs money.

"If we were to swing around from the side to stay out of their pulses, and not approach on a true collision course, we should be able to get very close before they even notice us."

"And what do you think they would do when they do notice us?" Anny was pleased by what the Chief was saying, but there were still a lot of unknowns.

"Hard to say, ma'am. Prospectors are an independent lot. Unless they are having some sort of trouble here with pirates, they aren't too likely to scream for help the instant they see us. If we can get a com-link with them and tell them plain that if they keep quiet they won't be harmed, they'll probably do it. I doubt if they have any significant weaponry and a ship like that can't run very well either. If we have to, we could probably knock out their communications and cripple them without killing all of them."

Anny nodded her head. It seemed like the best option. She did not want to have to relocate their operation again and she would dearly love to get some hard info on what was happening in this system. Still, they were taking a risk. If they did end up killing any of these people, they could be making a lot of enemies—aside from the moral issues involved- and if they got a message out to the Peeps, there was no telling how hard they would search for them. They might never be able to set up shop again and be forced to flee the system.

"Very well, " she said, at last. "That is what we are going to do. Chief, I'm putting you in charge of this operation. What do you think you'll need to pull it off?"

Senior Chief McColgin seemed a bit surprised by Anny's statement. He tugged at his lip for a few moments before replying. "Well, ma'am, I think we could do it with just the cutter. I know Lieutenant VanVeen has both pinnaces hooked up to power his fuel plants, and I don't think I need to take them away. The target is close enough that we don't really need an impeller driven craft anyway, and it will keep our emissions down. The cutter doesn't have much armament, but it should be enough. I guess about a dozen marines and a few extra ratings to pilot the prospector once we've got it. A few of my people have belter experience, so they'll do fine."

"All right. Lieutenant Hickman will provide the marines. I don't see any point in putting this off. Get what you need together and get going as soon as you are ready. We'll have to maintain com silence once you get close so you'll be acting on your own initiative, Chief."

"Yes, ma'am. It should be a piece of cake."

"I hope so, but good luck in any case."

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Lieutenant VanVeen," said Anny, turning to her exec. "Draw up some contingency plans in case we screw up and have to get out of here fast. Hopefully we would have time to disassemble everything, but set up a priority list of must-salvage items, just in case."

"Yes, ma'am, right away. Should I suspend the construction work we have in progress?"

"No, let's just assume that we'll be lucky," she replied with a smile.

[Scene Break]

Jeremy Carstairs slouched in his seat and tried to force himself to keep reading the textbook he had propped up in front of him. It was a book on practical electronics and it bored him silly. _Damn! Why couldn't _One-Eyed Jake _need a pilot instead of an electronics tech? For that matter why couldn't Milta have found some other boy than Tad Milroy to fall for?_

A soft chime sounded in the small cockpit of the free prospecting ship _Long Shot. _Jeremy sighed and straightened up. Time for another pulse. He typed in the settings on the radar controls and then pushed the red button. A powerful burst of radio waves came from the bow of the ship and radiated outward in a one hundred-twenty degree conical arc. Jeremy watched the display for about a minute, noting the lack of any significant returns.

_Except from that ice ball up ahead. _They had been getting readings for several days now that there could be more than just ice there. Jeremy hoped they could find something worthwhile. So far this trip, they had found virtually nothing. Ice and rock was not even worth hauling back, but if they could find a nice iron or nickel deposit imbedded in that ice, it could pay for the whole trip.

More importantly, it could delay their return to the rendezvous, because when they got back, Jeremy would be leaving _Long Shot_ forever.

He had a mixed feeling of excitement and dread at the prospect. He knew it was the way things worked among the Clans, but the inevitability of it bothered him sometimes. His cousin Milta had become smitten with a boy from the ship _One-Eyed Jake _at the last Gathering and they had been betrothed. At the next Gathering they would be married in front of the families – along with a few other couples in all probability – and Tad Milroy would move in with his new bride on _Long Shot_. Unfortunately, that also meant that one of _Long Shot's_ young men had to move aboard _One-Eyed Jake_, and his Great Aunt Eleanor, master of this ship, had decided that Jeremy was the one to go.

Jeremy had spent all of his sixteen standard years aboard _Long Shot_ and the thought of leaving was pretty scary.But it was exciting, too. For one thing, _One-Eyed_ _Jake_ was a bigger ship with more people on it. And a half-dozen of them were very pretty young women, all looking at him as a potential husband. Jeremy was not really that interested in getting married just yet, but since there wasn't a single eligible girl aboard _Long Shot_, the change would be a welcome one.

And the _'Jake_ was not only bigger, but she was more powerful – with her own impeller drive – and far richer than _Long Shot_. Jeremy had heard rumors that _'Jake_ might decide to clone in not too many more years. When a ship had the people and the money, it would sometimes 'clone'. They would sell off some of their assets and buy or build another ship. Part of the crew would transfer to the new ship and then both crews would have room to grow again. It was how the Clans increased their numbers year by year. _Long Shot_ had had several years of bad luck and even though every berth was full, there was no hope of her cloning in the foreseeable future.

Jeremy had heard other rumors, too. The one that was particularly exciting to him was that Leroy Ibsen, master of _One-Eyed Jake,_ was part of the Resistance. Jeremy did not know if it was true, but the thought of striking a blow against the hated Peeps was even more exciting than those six lovely girls waiting for him.

So no, leaving _Long Shot_ was not all bad, even though he would miss the family. But the source of his immediate frustration was that in the deal that would bring Tad Milroy here, Great Aunt Eleanor had promised Captain Ibsen a trained electronics tech in exchange.

And Jeremy Carstairs was not an electronics tech, nor did he have any desire to become one. But Great Aunt Eleanor had decreed that he would and she was the captain of this ship. So Jeremy had six months to become an electronics tech – or maybe a little longer if there was something interesting in that ice ball up ahead.

He sighed and turned back to his textbook. _It's just so damn boring! Not that much of anything around here is all that exciting. Maybe things will be better on the _'Jake_ at that…_

A loud, piercing beep jerked him upright in his chair again, and the book tumbled to the deck. He looked around wildly to find the source and his eyes were drawn to a flashing light on the proximity radar display. He looked at it and his eyes got even wider than they already were.

_Something closing on us fast! Great Ghu! It's only three hundred klicks away! And look at the size of it! How'd it get so close?_

Years of training took over. Jeremy twisted the large switch that would warm up the main thrusters, then he hit the com button. It seemed to take forever for anyone to answer.

"What is it, Jeremy?" came a voice that he recognized as his uncle's.

"The proximity radar! Something big closing fast! It's practically on top of us!" blurted the frightened young man.

"Activate the thrusters!" came back his uncle who sounded properly alarmed. "Sound the acceleration warning, I'll be right there!"

"Yes, sir! Thrusters are already warming up!"

Jeremy hit the acceleration alarm and a lout hooting joined the piercing beep of the proximity alarm. He looked at the readout on the thruster panel. They were stone cold, of course, and would take at least a couple of minutes to reach operating temperature. But did they have a couple of minutes? He hit the switch to activate the smaller attitude thrusters as well. Then he turned back to the radar…

…and stopped.

The blip was decelerating and swinging onto a parallel course! After a moment, the proximity alarm shut off of its own accord. Jeremy was just coming to the realization that this was not some bit of space debris that was closing on them when his uncle, the exec, burst into the control room.

"Status!" he barked.

"It…it's a ship, sir! It looks like it's matching course with us! Range is less than a hundred klicks!"

"What!?"

"It just popped out of nowhere! The proximity radar only picked it up when it was three hundred klicks out. It's slowing down and running parallel to us and about fifty klicks astern."

His uncle looked over his shoulder to verify what Jeremy was telling him.

"Who the hell are they?" muttered his uncle.

"Should I shut off the acceleration alarm, sir?"

"Yes, go ahead. Whoever they are, I doubt we can outrun them."

Jeremy gratefully shut off the noise, but the silence only lasted a moment before there was a beep from the com panel.

"They're signaling us, sir! It's a tight beam com laser."

His uncle straightened up and stared at the com panel for a moment.

"Jeremy, get the captain up here."

"Yes, sir." Jeremy hit the intercom to do as he was told, but his eyes were on his uncle as he activated the com.

"This is the free prospector _Long Shot_…" he began, but he was cut off by a loud burst of static.

"Damn! They're jamming us!"

After a moment the static cleared and a strangely accented voice could be heard.

"_Long Shot_, do not respond on your radio. This is a cutter from the Grayson Space Navy vessel _Lionheart_. We mean you no harm, but we are going to have to take charge of your vessel temporarily. We apologize for this, but it is necessary. We strongly advise you not to resist or attempt to signal for help. We have our weapons trained on you and will destroy your ship if he have to. We wish to board at once. We repeat: if you do not resist you will not be harmed and you and your ship will be allowed to go on your way as soon as it is possible. If you agree to our conditions, respond by blinking your running lights twice – do not use your radio."

"Grayson Space Navy? I've never heard of them," said Jeremy's uncle.

"What do they want from us?" asked Jeremy.

"I don't know, but we can't fight and we can't run. We better do what they ask."

"Shouldn't we wait for the captain? She'll be here in just a minute," said Jeremy.

"We can't wait, there's no telling what these people might do. Jeremy, flash the running lights like they told us to."

"Yes, sir." Jeremy Carstairs numbly reached for the switch.

**Chapter Thirty**

**L**ieutenant (j.g.) Patric McDermott adjusted the controls on the viewscreen in the main boat bay and shook his head. The image being picked up by _Coeur de Lion's_ external cameras was pretty incredible. The prospecting ship they had "invited" to join them was being moored to the gigantic chunk of ice floating nearby, and Patric could scarcely believe what he was seeing.

_It doesn't even look like a spacecraft! It looks like someone took the entire McDermott farmstead from back home and wadded it up into a ball and tossed it out into space!_

In truth, it was a good analogy. The 'ship' was a bizarre collection of habitation modules, solar panels, thrusters, cargo bays, fuel tanks, and just plain junk all welded together. Half the items sticking out from its lumpy hull, Patric could not begin to identify. It was not even very big; maybe a thousand tons altogether.

_And with fifty people living on it for years at a time. I'd go crazy. Belters really are a different breed._

Chief McColgin's estimate on the number of crew had been low, but he had hit the make-up right on the nose. It appeared to be a family group all living and working together.

"Tester the Merciful! What a piece of junk!"

Patric looked up and saw Evan Frasier standing next to him and staring at the same image he had been. He grinned.

"Not exactly a battle cruiser, is she, Evan?"

"No, Sirree! I don't think you could pay me enough to trust my life to something like that!"

"Well, they seem to make out okay. But I agree with you. Even on her worst day _Lionheart_ looked better than that."

"A lot better!" agreed Evan.

Patric stared at his friend. He had not seen much of Evan since they came aboard, even though Patric was in charge of all damage control. Everyone was just so busy there had not been much time for socializing.

"How have you been doing, Evan?"

"Busy and tired, but not too bad. We are just about done patching the last of the fuel tanks. Once that's done I get to go help Lieutenant VanVeen build more electrolysis plants so there will be something to put in them. How about you?"

"Busy and tired," grinned Patric. "But we are making some progress at last. Hopefully no one else will bother us for a few months and we can get some significant quantities of fuel. I don't like having nearly empty tanks the way we do."

"What have we got left? About ten percent?"

"Well, we got here with eight, we used another two dodging around and we've processed about three percent worth, so we're at nine."

"Except all this new stuff is pure Aytch-Two," said Evan. "It doesn't really count for as much."

"True, but we'll make out."

Evan looked at Patric with a strange expression. "How's Anny doing?"

"She's doing okay. She's tired, of course – who isn't? But I think she's more worried than anything else. This is a big strain on her."

"I'll bet. It would be a big strain on anyone." Evan's expression grew even stranger and he glanced around. "Don't take this the wrong way, Patric, but do you think she's really up to this?"

Patric frowned. "What do you mean?" said Patric sharply. "She's done a great job – and she's _got_ the job in any case, no one else."

"Well, I know that, but there's no denying that she's never done anything like this before. I mean I like Anny and all, but I'm just worried a bit."

Patric stared at his friend. He was more than a little surprised by what he was hearing.

"Have you been talking to Daley or something, Evan? Of all the people on this ship, I felt sure I could depend on you to back her."

Frasier looked hurt. "Well, I'm sorry, Patric, but I'm not the only one who's worried. Let's be honest: we're in a lot of trouble and our commander is totally inexperienced. I'd have to be a little nuts _not_ to be worried!"

"Yeah, I guess so," said Patric. "Sorry I snapped at you. I guess I'm a bit worried, too. Not about Anny's ability, though. You should have seen her piloting the ship in that grav-wave!"

"I certainly heard about it. Hell, they're making up _songs_ about it down on the lower decks!"

"Really? I hope I get a chance to hear some of them. Evan, don't you worry about Anny. She's one of the most talented and dedicated people I've ever known. And in the last few weeks I've never seen her so focused. If anyone can get us home, she can."

"I hope you're right, Patric. Look! Here comes the cutter," said Evan pointing to the viewscreen.

The cutter had detached itself from the prospecting ship and was headed their way. Patric looked out the nearby viewport and saw that the hanger doors were opening.

"They're bringing the crew of that thing over here for safekeeping," said Patric.

"Yeah? Well, we've got plenty of room for them here – probably lots more than they've got on their own ship."

Just then, a squad of marines got off the lift and took positions around the boarding tube. Lieutenant VanVeen was with them and he nodded to Patric and Evan.

"They expecting trouble?" asked Evan. "These belters must be tough customers."

"Well, you know: 'A gram of prevention's worth a kilo of cure'. No point in taking chances. And some of those folks must be pretty scared by all of this."

"Can't blame them for that," said Evan.

The pair turned toward the viewport and watched the cutter nosing into the boat bay. It only took a few minutes for it to be secured in a docking cradle and have the boarding tube attached. After another few minutes, the inner hatch swung open. Immediately, they could hear a babble of voices and the wail of a small child. One voice that Patric recognized as Senior Chief McColgin's was shouting above the others.

"Please calm down! You're in no danger! Everything will be all right! Now please come this way!"

The noise subsided a bit but it got nearer. A pair of marines got out of the tube and started helping other people out. One by one and two by two they came out of the tube and stood in the boat bay gallery. They huddled together and looked around uncertainly. Most of them were wearing coveralls in various colors and all were clutching bags or bundles or small children. They looked like pictures of refugees that Patric had seen. He suddenly felt very guilty to be putting them through this.

Then one of them laughed and pointed at the bulkhead. The others looked as well and there were a number of nervous chuckles. Patric looked at where the first had pointed and smiled himself. On the bulkhead was the usual crest bearing the ship's name that could be found on virtually every ship in every navy in the galaxy.

But there had been a few changes made to this crest. The "P.N.S." had been crudely crossed out with black paint and a hand lettered "G.N.S." had been painted above it. Below the whole thing was another rough message stating: "Under New Management". Some crewman had done that as a joke, weeks before, but it seemed to be having a good effect on the belters. _I guess they were still worried that we were really Peeps in disguise, _thought Patric.

Then a new voice burst out from the boarding tube. It was female and had the sound of authority.

"Get your hands off me you whelp! I was handling myself in zero gee before your grandfather was born!" Patric saw one of the marines at the boarding tube rear back in surprise.

"Sorry, ma'am," he said.

"Don't you 'ma'am' me! I'm the captain of that ship and I expect to be treated with respect, damn your eyes!"

Lieutenant VanVeen was smiling and he waved over a rating and several of the marines. On his signal there was a twittering of the boson's pipes and he and the impromptu side-party saluted.

Patric watched as a woman – a startlingly old woman – gingerly came out of the boarding tube and stood glaring at VanVeen and his men.

"Welcome aboard _Lionheart_, Captain," said VanVeen ending his salute.

"Stow it, sonny! You're no happier to have me here than I'm happy to be here. Now where's the commander of this band of pirates? I demand to see him immediately!"

"Commander Payne will see you and your officers shortly, Captain. Right now I'm to see that you are settled in your temporary quarters." VanVeen emphasized the word "temporary".

"I don't know where you 'Graysons' come from, but maybe you have a different meaning for the word 'immediately'," said the woman. She was a good twenty centimeters shorter than VanVeen, but she leaned forward menacingly.

"I'm sorry, Captain, but I have my orders," said VanVeen, obviously trying hard not to smile. "Now if you and your people would please come with me."

The woman glanced around. First at the marines, then at her own people, and finally back at VanVeen. The marines only had their sidearms and were making no threatening gestures, but their presence was sending an unmistakable message. Finally the woman shrugged.

"All right, lead on! Looks like we don't have any choice but to accept your hospitality – whether we want it or not."

"Thank, you, Captain. Please come this way, all of you."

The sorry looking group followed after their white-haired captain, who followed after VanVeen. After a few moments, they were all crowded into several of the waiting lifts. In another moment they were gone.

"I foresee interesting times ahead," said Evan Frasier at Patric's side.

"Let's hope not too interesting," replied Patric. "Well, I have to get to the main conference room. Anny wants the staff to get together and discuss things with Chief McColgin before we meet with the belters."

"Okay, see you later, Patric."

[Scene Break]

"So what do you think, Chief?" asked Anny Payne.

"Well, ma'am, they are not too much different from what I was expecting. An extended family group living and working aboard a prospecting ship. I suspect they may be down on their luck from the condition of their ship, although I don't have anything else in this system to compare it to."

Patric was sitting at the main conference table with Anny and the other department heads. Anny consulted a compad.

"They call this system 'Scalloway'? Any idea why?"

"No, ma'am. Their records show that they were originally a consortium of belters from the 61 Cygni system in the Solarian League, 'Gram' it's called. They bought the colonization rights for this system about four hundred T-years ago and actually settled about fifty years later. The habitable planet needed extensive terra-forming and most of them are still belters, it seems."

"Have they said much about the Peeps?"

"Not really. I get the impression that they don't like them and are afraid of them, but that's about all."

"The ship we 'secured' is called _Long Shot_ and their leader is Captain Eleanor Reinl. What do you make of her?"

"She's…something, ma'am. Extremely strong-willed. Very concerned about the well being of her people and used to having her own way. I don't know how cooperative she's going to be."

Anny tapped a finger on the table. "From what you've seen, is there anything we can offer these people to encourage their cooperation?"

"They're not going to be interested in any promises of money – or anything else that they can't see or touch, ma'am. But their ship could certainly use repairs and upgrades. Belters are very possessive about their ships – their lives and their livelihoods depend on them. We could probably do a lot to fix up their ship and I think they would respond favorably to that."

"Ma'am? Just what are you hoping to get from these people?" asked Philip VanVeen. "We secured their ship before they could get a message off. From what we've seen nobody is likely to miss them for a while. There are no other vessels headed our way at the moment, so we can operate our little fuel plant in peace."

"That's certainly true," answered Anny. "For the moment we have what we wanted – time. But I'm hoping to get more information on the Peeps and what else is going on around here. I'm also hoping that there is some sort of resistance movement that could possibly help us out."

"That sounds a bit risky, ma'am," said Terrence Daley. "Insurgent groups are inherently unpredictable. Dealing with them might be more trouble than it would be worth."

"You could be right," said Anny. "But I would like to know more in any case. The more we know about this system, the better we'll be able to respond to anything that might happen."

"Sounds reasonable, ma'am,' said Daley, nodding his head.

"Does anyone have any other comments before I bring Captain Reinl and her exec in?"

"I have one, ma'am," said Chief Surgeon Clifford Lewis. "I have done a very preliminary medical exam on these people. They are somewhat reluctant to being examined. Generally, they are in good health, but I could not help but notice one thing right away: None of them have received the Prolong treatments."

There were a number of startled looks around the table. The life extending Prolong treatments had only been introduced to Grayson a few decades earlier, but they were common most other places in the galaxy.

"That's interesting, Doctor," said Anny. "Do you suppose they have some religious objection to the treatments – some people do – or have the Peeps been withholding it, or is it something else?"

"I don't know, ma'am. They have not said anything and I haven't asked. But just offhand, I would estimate that Captain Reinl is about ninety T-years old. In any negotiations we hold with her, we are going to seem mighty young in her eyes. It might be something to keep in mind."

"Yes, it certainly is. Thank you, Doctor. Does any one have anything else? No? I have one other thing: I don't intend to tell them any more about our situation than we have to. They can see that we are processing fuel, but we don't have to tell them why. They don't need to know about our damage or our situation. The less vulnerable they think we are, the less trouble they are likely to make. Okay, Chief, would you bring them in?"

Chief McColgin went out of the conference room and a minute later returned with Captain Eleanor Reinl and her first officer who they knew was her son, Thomas. As she came into the room, everyone stood up. Anny came around the table and extended her hand.

"Captain Reinl? I'm Andreanne Payne, commander of _Coeur de Lion_. Welcome aboard and please let me apologize for…"

"You?" interrupted Reinl. "A little wisp of a girl like you, commander of this great big ship? Don't make me laugh! What kind of game is this? I won't be trifled with, I warn you!"

"Captain," said Chief McColgin, "I assure you that Commander Payne is in command here."

Reinl cocked her head and stared at Anny. "Humph!" she said at last. "I don't suppose I have any choice but to believe you – not that I've had any choices at all for the last few days!"

"Captain," said Anny, "Please believe _me_ when I say that we had very little choice in what we did, either. I apologize for the inconvenience we are causing you but we will allow you to go on your way as soon as we possibly can. In the meantime won't you please sit down?"

Reinl frowned even more deeply than she had been, but she eventually moved toward an empty chair. Her first officer sprang forward and pulled out the seat for her and helped her get into it. To Patric, her fragile body seemed a strange counterpoint to the iron-willed personality locked inside it.

"This is my son, Thomas," said Reinl after she was seated. "He is the executive officer of _Long Shot_."

"Pleased to meet you, sir," said Anny. She extended her hand again and after a moment's hesitation he took it. When he let go, Anny gestured to her officers and they all took their seats.

"All right, _Commander_," began Captain Reinl before Anny could say anything. "I assume you've brought me in here to explain why you've done what you've done and how long you are going to keep us prisoners. So get on with it! I'm tired of false courtesy! You've got us and there's nothing we can do about it. Just tell me what you are going to tell me and be done with it!"

Patric saw Anny look down at her hands for a moment. Then she looked up at the old woman sitting opposite her.

"All right, Captain, I'll dispense with the pleasantries and get straight to the point. This ship is in the Grayson Space Navy. I understand you have never heard of Grayson, but I'll assume you have heard of Manticore." Anny paused and Reinl nodded her head slightly.

"Grayson is an ally of Manticore in a war against the Peoples' Republic. I imagine you have heard of that, too. We're here conducting operations against the Peeps and we need to keep our presence a secret. You were getting too close for comfort and we could not take any chances, so we captured your ship. We mean no harm to you or your people. When we have accomplished our mission, you will be allowed to go your way. In the meantime you'll have to stay here. Plain enough?"

"Oh, it's plain enough!" said Reinl. "Except for the big question: How long? How long are you going to keep us here?"

Anny looked uncomfortable. "We estimate it will be eight to ten T-months."

"Ten months!" exploded the belter captain.

"Yes, Captain. And I'm sorry."

"Sorry! Nearly a T-year a prisoner and you're sorry! I don't have many years left, young lady! I can't afford to waste them! My granddaughter is to be married in only six months. What are you going to say to her? And _Long Shot_ has debts to pay. Debts must always be paid. How will we pay our debts, Commander? How will _you_ pay your debt to _Long_ _Shot_?"

"Again, I say that I am sorry," said Anny. "There is nothing I can do about the wedding, but I imagine there is something we can do to compensate you for your inconvenience."

"An inconvenience she calls it," said Reinl turning to her son. "I'm not a fool, Commander, and I'm not blind either! I saw the scars on your ship as we came in. Blast damage and new hull patches. This is obviously a prize ship and a prize crew. And you're mining that ice ball for fuel. A batch of children in command, playing at officers. And I can read a uniform, too. Yours says lieutenant, girl, not commander! You've been hurt-hurt bad. Your ship's been crippled and your real captain is hurt or dead. You've got damn little to offer _Long Shot_ in compensation, and we both know it!"

Anny blushed slightly and Patric could see her consternation at how easily the belter had seen through her. Not that everything she said was true…

Anny bit on her lip for a moment before continuing.

"Captain, our condition is no concern of yours. But you underestimate what we can do for you. Crippled or not, _Coeur de Lion_ is three hundred times the size of your ship. I have a crew of six hundred highly trained, highly skilled people. Chief McColgin has told me about the condition of your ship, ma'am and we both know the truth about that too: it's a piece of junk!"

"Junk!?" sputtered Reinl in outrage. "How dare you? Let me tell you something, girl…"

"No ma'am, let me tell _you_ something!" said Anny interrupting, and the tinge of anger in her voice was clear. "Your ship is an old, cobbled together junk pile that badly needs repairs and a refit. But it's scarcely larger than one of our pinnaces. Once we've finished some essential work, I'll assign my people to fix it up. It would hardly scratch the resources we have available. Would a new environmental plant interest you, Captain? How about a new set of search radar? New thrusters? Maybe just a coat of paint to cover the rust? We'll do that for you, Captain, free of charge. I know you don't want to be here, and frankly, we don't want you here, either. But just as you have your debts to pay, we have our own duty to carry out. I'll do my best to compensate you for what we are doing to you, but if we are going to be stuck with each other for the next ten months –and we are—then I'd like for both of us to make the best of it. But whatever we make of it, the fact remains: you _are_ stuck here. You value plain talk, Captain, and that's about as plain as I can get!"

Patric could see that Captain Reinl was taken back by Anny's outburst. Patric himself, was impressed by the way Anny was handling this. Confrontation was not her style, but she was not letting this old curmudgeon browbeat her.

Reinl's expression of anger was slowly fading into one of thoughtfulness. Clearly Anny's offer of a refit was having the desired effect.

"Humph!" grunted the old woman at last. "A handsome offer, I'll admit. But 'handsome is as handsome does' as we say. I'll wait to see if you make good on your promise."

"We'll make good on it, Captain, you have my word," said Anny.

"All right, now what else do you want from me?" asked Reinl. "You didn't bring me in here just to insult my ship and offer me repairs. You don't have to offer me anything and nobody does something for nothing! What else do you want?"

"We've already done the main thing I wanted, Captain," said Anny in a soothing tone. "You might not believe it, but we really are sorry for what we've had to do to you and we do want to make amends – we're not Peeps you know." Both Reinl and her exec scowled at the mention of the Peeps – clearly that was the reaction Anny had been looking for.

"But," she continued, "we would be interested in any information you could give us about this star system. We don't know much about you or your people. And obviously, we'd like to know anything you could tell us about the Peeps."

Reinl began to nod. "Yes, I thought so. The one thing you can't just take: what we know! You've got my ship and my people, now you want what's in my head, too. Well, I have no objection to telling you about us – and it seems we'll have plenty of time for that! But what I know about the Peeps? I can tell you they are a bunch of murdering, thieving bastards! But if you want data on their forces and dispositions, you've kidnapped the wrong old woman. I have as little to do with the Peeps as possible and I don't give a damn about what they're up to as long as they leave me and mine alone."

"I can certainly understand that, Captain," said Anny. "We were not really expecting you to be able to give us an exact Order of Battle for the Peeps. But any general information would be useful. For instance, you obviously don't like the Peeps. Is that the general feeling among your people? Is there any sort of resistance movement? If so, are they…"

"Bah!" interrupted Reinl. "Is there a resistance? There's a bunch of damn fools that call themselves the resistance! I don't want any more to do with them than I do the Peeps!"

A look of pain shadowed the old woman's face. It was a few moments before she spoke again.

"Listen to me, girl." Reinl's voice had sunk to a near-whisper and her tone was utterly different from what it had been earlier. "Seventy years ago the Peeps showed up here and stole our planet and most of our dreams. I was probably about your age then. We ached to fight back, to kick the Peeps out and be free again. But there were so many of them and they had the ships and the weapons. There were some attempts to fight back over the years but it was clearly hopeless.

"Then this great war started. Even here we heard the rumors of it. And then there were more rumors: The Peeps were getting their arses kicked by the Manties. The Peeps were in full retreat. The Manties would be here soon. A new resistance movement arose. They built or stole weapons, turned their prospectors into warships. They were ready to help the Manties once they came.

"But they didn't come. Several years passed and they still didn't come. Finally the hotheads wouldn't wait anymore. They rose up against the Peeps. My husband and my brother, a son and two daughters went with them. And the Peeps blew them to dust! They smashed the ships and nuked the bases and drove the survivors into the outer system. That ship out there isn't the real _Long Shot_. It's what we could put together after the real _Long Shot_ was blown to vapor – along with half of my family."

The silence in the conference was like a huge weight on the chest of each person there. They stared at the old woman. Tears glistened in some of their eyes, but not in hers. Patric felt a terrible guilt. He wanted to tell this woman about the battles the Royal Navy had fought and the losses it had taken, but he knew it would be meaningless. Even a galaxy of deaths could not diminish her own tragedy one iota.

"I'm sorry," whispered Anny.

"Sorry? Sorry doesn't pay the debts – or bring back the dead, girl. So you can fight your war. You can go ahead and contact those damn fools that are still trying to fight the Peeps. But I'll have no part of it. We came way out here to stay away from both the Peeps and the resistance. So go ahead. Do what you have to do. But don't expect any help from me."

Captain Eleanor Reinl got to her feet.

"I'll go back to my cell now."

She turned and walked slowly toward the hatch. Her son at her side. The officers in the compartment were all on their feet and watched her go.

**Chapter Thirty-One**

**L**ieutenant Patric McDermott walked down the passageway and listened to the echoes of his own footfalls. _Sure is quiet. This place is like a ghost ship since we went to three watches._

Two months had passed since they had captured the belter ship. The rest of the fuel plants were operational and the crushing workload had eased at last. There was still work to be done: routine maintenance, watches to stand, and the repairs to _Long Shot_, plus the occasional training exercise, but the mad pace that had gone on since they first came aboard had finally ended. With only six hundred crew, a mere two hundred were on duty at any one time. And some of them were supervising the fuel plants and others were on the prospector. It made for a lot of empty passageways in the large ship.

Patric was on his way to one of the holds to see if any of the items Lieutenant Yarnell had squirreled away could be used over on _Long Shot_. His route took him past one of the enlisted lounges and he slowed as he heard someone playing a geetar.

A song began and Patric recognized it immediately. He stopped just outside the compartment to listen. A single voice chanted:

_"O sit down a while, for in song now it's told,"_

And a half dozen others chanted back:

_"(A long way from hearth, and a long way from home,)"_

Then the first voice again:

"_Of a wee Grayson girl forged in Harrington's mold,"_

_ "(I feared we were lost, and forever would roam)"_

"_For I crewed on the Lionheart, prize of our prey,"_

"_When we stared at our death just a sail's width away;"_

"_And I still thank the Tester I saw it that day,"_

_ "(When Anny Payne held our lives in her hands!)"_

Patric shook his head and smiled wistfully. The song was "Anny and the Grav Wave". Some genius had made it up soon after their brush with death. For a few weeks it seemed everyone was singing it – much to Anny's embarrassment. That first part about "Harrington's mold", in particular, bothered her. Honor Harrington was her idol and she refused to let anyone try and compare her to Harrington. It was one of the few things that could get Anny genuinely angry.

But it did not stop the crew from singing the song.

"_With Brock as our Captain and Payne as our First,"_

_ "(A long way from hearth, and a long way from home)"_

"_We would take our prize in, let the Peeps do their worst,"_

_ "(I feared we were lost, and forever would roam)"_

"_But the Peeps stalked our trail and they dug us our grave,"_

"_We gave as we got - but we got as we gave,"_

"_And they left us a cripple adrift in a wave,"_

_ "(When Anny Payne held our lives in her hands!)"_

Patric had not heard the song sung for a while and he was glad to do so now. He snuck a peek around the hatch combing and saw that a number of the belters were in the lounge, too. They seemed enthralled by the song, but Patric wondered how the Graysons would react when they asked them who "Harrington" was!

The belters were turning out to be a lot less trouble than Patric had feared. After a few weeks they were mingling with the crew and seemed more like guests than prisoners. They still had to be watched, of course. They all had an I.D. bracelet locked around their wrists and the computer monitored their positions and kept them out of areas they did not belong in. But once they got the idea that they were not going to be harmed – and especially after the repairs on _Long Shot_ were started – they were less afraid and more friendly than anyone had expected.

Except for Captain Reinl. She stayed in her cabin and had as little to do with the Graysons as she could. Her son handled the day to day activities of the belters and was the main liaison between them and their 'hosts'.

"There were none who could steer such a wreck through such strain,"

_ "(A long way from hearth, and a long way from home)"_

"_Save the best of all pilots, young Andreanne Payne,"_

_ "(I feared we were lost, and forever would roam)"_

"_So she fought our own ship, and she fought the wave's power,"_

"_And she fought her fatigue to steer hour by hour,"_

"_And she fought for our lives until Death could but glower,"_

_ "(When Anny Payne held our lives in her hands!)"_

Patric listened to the song and was reminded of that awful, incredible time on the bridge. He could still see Anny's face, streaked with sweat and blood, but frozen into a concentration Patric could only marvel at. No one else aboard could have done it, that was for sure. The song continued and Patric was suddenly aware that that he had not heard the verse that was now being sung before. Something new had been added.

"Now I say if you feel that a woman's accursed,"

_ "(She brought us to hearth, and she brought us to home)"_

"_'Fore you tell it to her, you'll fight all of us first!"_

_ "(Though we feared we were lost, and forever would roam)"_

"_For I've seen a wrecked ship fight a grav wave and win,"_

"_And I've served with the woman who brought us all in,"_

"_And if you weren't there, then your word's not worth tin –"_

_ " When Anny Payne held our lives in her hands!"*_

The song ended and there was applause from the listeners. The belters began asking questions about Anny and the incident in the song. The Graysons were happy to supply them with answers. But Patric stood in the passageway and frowned. The last verse troubled him. Anywhere else and in any other situation, it would just seem like the crews' admiration for their captain, but here and now, it foreshadowed trouble.

In the last few weeks- since the change to three watches had given the crew a chance to rest and think—there had started to be some grumbling on the lower decks. Some people wanted to hyper out right now and try to find another system closer to Alliance space. Others wanted to see about getting a full load of fuel from some belter base. Many were unhappy with the idea of sitting here for another eight months. The inaction and uncertainty was bothering a lot of people and some were starting to raise questions about Anny's decisions. A few even questioned her fitness to command.

Patric had only been hearing about it second or third hand, but it bothered him. Most of the crew were still solidly behind Anny, and that last verse of the song was a clear message to the doubters. But the line about fighting was a bit scary. They could not afford trouble like that here.

Patric sighed and then continued on his way. In a few minutes he had reached the proper hold – or he hoped it was the proper one – and began his search. Only a part of his mind was on what he was doing. The rest of it continued to think about Anny and the ship and the crew and their common problems. He was angry at those crew members who were questioning Anny – did they honestly think anyone aboard could do a better job? But at the same time he could understand their anxiety. They were in a Peep-held system, damaged and with only a skeleton crew. No one else knew where they were and their most experienced officer was out of commission. Add in that they were a conglomerate of people from a half dozen different ships who were only expecting to be away for a few weeks and it was a pretty depressing situation.

To top it off, they had suffered an annoying accident the previous week. The patches on one of their repaired fuel tanks had ruptured and a week's production from the fuel plants had boiled away into space. The prospect of being here for another seven or eight months was starting to weigh heavily on a number of people. Patric himself was a little depressed, but primarily he was worried for Anny. The officers were doing their best to keep the grumbles from reaching her, but Patric knew she was under a terrible strain. She was as aware as anyone of the problems the ship was facing – probably more so than anyone – and the entire crushing responsibility was resting squarely on her slender shoulders.

Of course she had been trained for this; anyone graduating from Saganami Island these days was trained for the responsibilities of command. But to have it land in your lap like this was more than anyone could be prepared for. She would do what she had to do, Patric was sure of that, but it hurt him to see the dark circles under her eyes and the lines endless weeks of worrying were putting on her beautiful face.

Somewhat to his surprise, Patric found what he was looking for and then headed toward the boat bay. _Long Shot_ was still moored to the ice ball. It could have been hooked to a boarding tube to make access more convenient, but Anny was afraid that it might be a bit _too_ convenient that way. The belters had not made any trouble so far, but to have their ship only a few airlocks away might have pushed temptation beyond the breaking point. As a result, Patric would have to take a shuttle to reach the craft.

It only took a few minutes, and then Patric was aboard the strange vessel that was slowly becoming as familiar to him as the inside of _Lionheart_. For the past month Patric and a small swarm of engineering and damage control people had been trying to refit the prospecting ship. It had taken nearly two weeks just to document exactly what was already there and what needed fixing – there were no blueprints of _this_ vessel. It was unlike any navy duty Patric had ever done before, but he loved it. Tinkering with things, fixing them up, and trying to make them work better than they had before fascinated Patric. On the farm back home he was always tearing open the robots and other machinery to 'improve' them. His father sometimes got exasperated when his 'improvements' did not work properly, but Patric learned a lot of practical engineering that could not be found in any book.

And _Long Shot_ was definitely not to be found in any book.

Their refits were complicated by the fact that this was a Peep-held system and probably still would be for some time after they left. They could not install any new equipment that would draw the Peeps' attention to the ship. That could have fatal consequences for their guests. For example: they wanted to install new search radars, but they had to disguise the wavelengths they used so they did not scream "Alliance Equipment!" each time they were turned on. Other items did not have to be so carefully camouflaged, but they still had to be careful.

At the moment, Patric was working on some of the life support equipment. As he came into the compartment that contained the main environmental controls he heard several people talking. One of them he recognized as Chris Tropio. Environmental equipment was her specialty and Patric had been working with her for several days to refit the antiquated machinery used by _Long Shot_. He thought he recognized the other voice, too.

"You mean that you and Commander Payne are the only women on that entire ship?"

"I'm afraid so, Jeremy. The Graysons don't allow their women in the navy, so the only women are those on loan from other navies – or special cases like the Commander."

Patric smiled. The other voice belonged to Jeremy Carstairs, one of the belters. They had found it useful – essential really – to get some guidance from the belters on how their ship worked. A few of the younger people had been eager to help out and they seemed trustworthy enough to allow back aboard – under supervision. Patric had worked with Jeremy several times and he liked the young man.

"Hi there, folks," he said as he came into view.

"Hi, Patric," said both Chris and Jeremy in unison.

"How's it going?" asked Patric.

"Not too bad," replied Chris. "Jeremy, here, was just asking about the rather lopsided sex ratios aboard _Lionheart_."

"Yeah, I heard," said Patric.

"Kind of hard to believe," said Jeremy. "I thought things were bad here on _Long_ _Shot_ with nothing but cousins and sisters to look at, but only two women and six hundred men! You're from Manticore, Chris? You said Commander Payne was a special case, where's she from?"

"Actually, she is from Grayson. But she's the only one."

"The only one on the ship?"

"The only one in the whole Grayson Navy," said Chris.

"You're kidding!"

"Nope, dead serious. She's the first, one and only right now. I'm sure there will be more later, but for right now, Andreanne Payne is it."

"_Andreanne_ Payne? You mean she's the one in that song? I only half believed it anyway, and I never realized they were talking about your skipper!"

Chris grinned. "That's her all right, and from what I've heard, the song understates matters. Patric was there on the bridge when it happened, he can tell you."

Jeremy looked to Patric expectantly. "Really, Patric?"

"Yes, I was there. The song actually gets it pretty much right. It was incredible. I don't think anyone but Anny could have pulled it off. But then if she had not been there to do it, we would not be here – and we would not be inconveniencing you folks the way we are."

"Heck!" said Jeremy. "You're not inconveniencing me any! This is the most excitement I can remember in years!"

Patric chuckled. "I don't think Captain Reinl feels that way, Jeremy."

"Well, I guess she wouldn't. She worries a lot, but if she could see all the repairs you are making, I think it might actually put a smile on her face!"

"I hope it does," said Patric. "We'll probably be bringing her over here next week to show her. I imagine she'll have some comments and suggestions."

"You can bet on that! Great Aunt Eleanor always has something to say!"

"So she's your great aunt, Jeremy?" asked Chris.

"Sure, everyone on _Long Shot_ is related. That's why I have to go to another ship to find somebody I can marry—not that I'm looking to get married anytime soon," he added hastily with a slight blush.

Patric chuckled. "Well, she's quite a lady, but I think she'll be glad to see the last of us."

Jeremy was silent and stared down at the deck plates for a few moments. Finally he looked up and asked: "You guys aren't going to stay and fight the Peeps are you?"

Patric glanced over at Chris Tropio. She looked a little embarrassed. Patric was not sure what to say. Since Captain Reinl had seen through their intentions so easily, it did not seem to matter if they told Jeremy the truth, but the truth was a difficult one.

"We're not really in any shape to take on the whole Peep garrison here, Jeremy. I wish we could, but we can't."

"But if you teamed up with the Resistance, your ship would make a big difference."

"Your great aunt doesn't seem to think much of the resistance," said Chris, gently.

"Well, we got hurt pretty bad the last time," admitted Jeremy. "But I hear the Resistance is a lot better equipped and organized than it was! I was just a kid back then, but things are different now."

"I wish we could help, and someday we'll be back, but there isn't much we can do right now. We're just trying to get enough fuel to get home," said Patric.

"That's why you're mining that iceball?"

"Yes," replied Patric, "We got all shot up in that battle you heard about in the song. Our Warshawski sails are wrecked and we don't have enough fuel to get home under impeller drive. So we came here to refuel."

"And when you get home, you'll tell your navy about what's going on here in Scalloway?"

"We'll certainly tell them," said Chris. "But we won't have any say if they come back. I'm sure they will eventually, but I can't say when."

"But the sooner you get home the sooner they might be back!" exclaimed Jeremy in sudden realization. "We should be helping you get that fuel!"

"That's nice of you, Jeremy," said Chris with a smile. "But I don't know what you could do at this point. We've built every fuel plant we could with the equipment we have. _Long Shot_ really can't contribute much more."

"But we could get fuel for you!" insisted Jeremy. "There's an asteroid base not a hundred million klicks from here that could sell you all you need!"

Patric and Chris exchanged looks. They had discussed that possibility, but after the conversation with Captain Reinl they had not pursued it. This was the first definite information they had gotten on the subject.

"Fuel for a fusion plant?" asked Patric. "A deuterium-boron mix?"

"Uh, I'm not sure about that," said Jeremy. "Pure Aytch-two, for sure. A lot of ships have fusion plants, but I'm not exactly sure what they use."

"Hmmm, we could use pure hydrogen – that's what we're producing here. But do they have it in large quantities? We'd need a lot."

"Some of the ore haulers are pretty big. And I've seen the fuel storage tanks at the base, they're enormous."

"But how could we pay for it?" asked Chris. "Our money is worthless here – not that we have much on hand anyway."

"Well, you could always trade for it," said Jeremy. "Your weapons would bring huge prices and if you didn't want to sell those, just one of your pinnaces would be worth as much fuel as you could ever need."

Patric was intrigued in spite of himself. It was extremely tempting to try and get out of here sooner rather than later. But there were a lot of unknowns.

"But how could we arrange to get it? I don't think it would be a good idea to just sail up to that base and ask. Don't the Peeps have garrisons on the major bases?"

"Only on a few of them. The one I'm talking about doesn't have a garrison – the Peeps know better than to try that! But there could be some spies or informers there, it's true. It would probably be better to try and make contact with a dealer and arrange a transfer somewhere else."

"But how do we do that?"

"I bet my uncle could help! We could just go to the base in our scooter and make the arrangements."

The boy's enthusiasm was infectious. It did not seem like it would be all that difficult to listen to him tell it.

"Well, Jeremy," said Patric. "That's all very interesting. We'll have to take it up with Commander Payne and see what she says. Thank you very much for the information."

"No problem," said Jeremy with a huge grin. "Just make sure you take me along, okay?"

* "Anny and the Grav Wave" by Jonathan Cresswell-Jones. With many thanks –SW.

**Chapter Thirty-Two**

"**I** don't like it, I don't like it at all," said Lieutenant Philip VanVeen. "The fuel plants are doing the job and we have no reason to run a risk like this. So what if we have to wait a while? It's a sure thing and we should go with it."

"And sit here for another eight months?" said Lieutenant Nick Brown. "You know what's going on down on the lower decks. Morale is declining. It's not serious yet," he added casting a glance in Anny's direction, "but after all that time, who knows what it's going to be like?"

There was a nervous silence around the conference table. The meeting Anny had called to discuss the idea brought to her by Patric and Chris had just started and so far only VanVeen and Brown had really said anything.

"It's all right, people," she said. "I want you all to speak your minds. It will be my decision, but I need your input."

"Well, ma'am," said Terrence Daley, "What Lieutenant VanVeen says is certainly true: we don't have to do anything but wait and barring some disaster we will get home eventually. But Lieutenant Brown has a point, too. Eight months of inaction is going to be hard on the crew. Any sort of drills or exercises we put them through will just be 'make-work' and they'll know it. It's not like this is really our own ship. We were put here as a temporary crew and everyone is thinking about getting back to where they belong."

Anny nodded. Daley always had well reasoned arguments and Anny was glad to have his input. If it just had not been for that first meeting after the battle! Anny wanted to trust him. He had not given her any reason since then not to trust him, but still…

"Doesn't it really come down to how risky this proposal is?" asked Father O'Neil. "I agree that morale is declining, and it will get worse over time, but how does that compare with the risk of approaching the belters for fuel?"

"Yes, Father," said Anny. "You've hit the nail on the head: how risky is it? If there was no risk, we would not even be having this meeting – I'd just give the order to go ahead. But it is risky, we all know that. What are the chances of pulling this off, and what are the risks if something goes wrong? Opinions?"

"You know my opinion," said VanVeen. "It's damn risky! We know virtually nothing about these people. We only have the word of a boy that there are no Peeps on that station. And even he admits that there could be informers there. If we send some people and they get captured there will be hell to pay."

"Yes, that is certainly the biggest risk," said Chris Tropio. "If it were just a matter of getting turned down, if that were the worst thing that could happen, it would not be that much of a problem. But if some of our people get captured…"

"And even if the Peeps couldn't make our people talk, we'll have to send some belters along and they could give away our position," said Andrew Siganuk.

"We do have sensor drones deployed," said Lieutenant Pickering. "It's unlikely anyone could sneak up on us. We could always get away, but that doesn't help the people who get captured."

"Our fuel supply is up to almost twenty-five percent now," said Brown. "Our cruising radius has expanded significantly. If we had to run there are several other inhabited systems within reach and many uninhabited ones. I think the risk to the ship itself would be minimal."

"But the risk to our people would be considerable," said VanVeen. "Commander Payne, I'm as anxious to get out of here as the next person, but I think this is an unjustifiable risk. Still, I don't like to just be a naysayer. There is an alternative I've been thinking about for a while now and I'd like to propose it."

"Yes?" said Anny. She had no idea what he had in mind, but VanVeen now had the attention of everyone sitting at the table.

"I think I may have a way to get the Warshawski sails operational again." He said it simply, but looks of surprise could be seen on every face.

"I thought the after ring was beyond repair," said Anny.

"Well, yes, ma'am. We lost the three converters and there is nothing I can do here to fix them. The remaining five converters are badly worn and would not last long if we raised the sail with just them alone."

"So what are you proposing to do?"

"The eight converters in the forward Alpha ring are in fine shape. I think we could keep the sail up with only six of them – and that would let us move two of the Alpha converters to the after ring."

"You want to physically relocate the converters?" asked Patric in surprise.

"Yes, I realize that would normally be a job for the yards, but given some time I think we could do it here. With two fresh converters in the after ring, I could run the five others at lower power and still keep the sail up."

"For how long?" asked Anny. The thought of going back into that grav wave with two jury-rigged Warshawski sails sent a chill down her spine.

"I think they could last for three or four weeks, certainly enough to get us to Holiway."

"'You think'," said Nick Brown. "Seems to me that could be a bigger risk than trying to get fuel from the belters. I know we have the best pilot in the Galaxy sitting here with us, but I don't imagine even she wants to go through that again!"

Anny gave a nervous laugh and blushed. "No, I think I'll pass on that if you don't mind. But this is still an interesting proposal, Philip. How long do you think it would take to do the work?"

"Well, it is a big job. First we would have to remove the wrecked converters and repair the mounts. We'd have to run in new control and power lines. Then detaching the converters from the forward ring and moving them aft. Once they're in place we have to hook everything up. And actually, that's all the easy part. It's getting the new converters integrated properly into the ring, calibrating and testing. Frankly, the Book says 'no' to all of this, but…"

"Okay, so it's impossible," said Anny with a smile. "How long will it take?"

"As a rough guess, I would say about two months, ma'am," said VanVeen with an answering grin.

"Well, that would give the crew something to keep them busy, and it would help morale to be doing something positive like that," said Anny. "And as I understand it, at no point would our readiness be affected, am I correct?"

"Yes, ma'am, that's the beauty of this: we would never have to take the impellers off-line. If something happened, we could still make a quick get-away either in N-space or hyper."

"And even if you could not make it work, we're no worse off than we are now," added Patric.

"Two more months of fuel production would put us around forty percent of capacity," said Anny. "That gives us a considerable cruising range just on the impellers. If we were uncertain about the sails we wouldn't have to use them all the way to Holiway, just to get us close enough to get the rest of the way with the impellers. How about that Mister Brown? How long would we have to stay in the wave to get us that close?"

"Uh, I'll have to crunch some numbers on that one, ma'am. Depending on how high we go in hyper, it would be around two weeks if we took the wave the whole way. So maybe about a week in the wave and the rest on impellers. I'll work it out and get back to you."

"I feel very confident the sails would last for at least a week, ma'am," said VanVeen.

"All right then," said Anny. "I see no reason not to go ahead with this – no matter what I decide on the other issue. Set up a plan, Philip, and run it by me as soon as you are ready."

"Yes, ma'am, right away," said VanVeen. Then he paused and looked sharply at Anny. "Uh, do I take it to mean that you are still considering this other plan to buy fuel from the belters?"

"Yes, I am – considering it, I mean. I have not made a decision to do it, but I have not ruled it out, either. I'd like to lay out a possible plan of action, but first, does anyone else have any other general observations before we get down to specifics?"

"I do, ma'am," said Clifford Lewis, the Chief Surgeon. "I've been debating with myself whether to mention this, but I think I must. It has to do with the condition of Commander Brock."

"What do you mean?" asked Anny. "I thought you had stabilized him."

"We have, ma'am, but I don't have the facilities here to begin treating his injuries. He's been revived from the initial freezing, but he is now in suspension and will have to stay that way until we reach a base with an adequate hospital. We can keep him like that indefinitely, but it is always best to begin the therapy as soon as possible. The longer we keep him in suspension, the longer it will take for his recovery – and the more memory loss he will suffer."

Anny was startled. She had not considered this aspect at all. "How much…deterioration are we talking about, Doctor?"

"I can't say exactly, ma'am. The rule of thumb is about a five-to-one ratio as far as recovery time – five days of extra recovery for every day of delay in beginning treatment. But that is for short delays. I don't know if there is much data for the sort of delay we are looking at here."

"Assuming none of these plans work out, it's going to be nearly a T-year from the time of his injuries until we can get him to a hospital," said Anny. "Do you mean his recovery could take an extra five T-years?"

"Well, as I said, we don't have a lot of data on this. The ratio might not be valid for extended periods." Doctor Lewis looked uncomfortable. "I realize that you can't put the welfare of the ship and all its crew at risk because of this, ma'am. I had not said anything before because we did not seem to have any option except to wait. Now that there is an option I feel compelled by professional ethics to make you aware of the situation. I hope you understand, ma'am."

"Yes, of course, Doctor," said Anny. The words came out of her mouth automatically, but they were just a cover for the turmoil inside her. _As if I didn't have enough to worry about!_ She had nearly made up her mind not to do anything about approaching the belters for fuel. She was just going through the motions of evaluating the situation because Patric and Chris had seemed so enthusiastic about the possibilities. At the least she was going to wait and see how VanVeen's project progressed before she did anything else. But now! She liked Michael Brock. Everyone on the ship liked Michael Brock. She felt quite sure if they took a vote, most people would favor taking a chance for his sake.

But there was not going to be any vote. The decision was Anny's and Anny's alone.

She was biting on her lip, trying to decide what to say next, when the intercom buzzed.

"Yes?" she said, grateful to have something to distract her.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, ma'am," said a voice, "But Mister Reinl, the belter ship's exec, is out here. He says he wants to see you and that it's very important."

Anny looked up in surprise and glanced at the other faces around the table. "We were going to have to talk to the belters sooner or later about this," she said to her officers. "I guess we may as well do it now. All right, send him in," she finished, speaking into the com.

After a few moments Thomas Reinl entered the conference room. Anny was slightly startled by how old he looked. With his ancient mother at his side, he had seemed much younger. Now, Anny's eyes were drawn to the gray hair at his temples and the wrinkled skin on his face. That face was drawn in an expression of concern and apprehension as the man looked at the assembled officers.

"Hello, Mister Reinl," said Anny getting to her feet. "I understand you have something important to talk to me about. Do you need to talk privately, or is it something my staff should hear, too?"

"Uh, I suppose it concerns everyone, Commander," said Reinl nervously.

"All right then, please have a seat and tell us about it."

The man did as he was told and then took a moment to gather himself before he started.

"Commander, my nephew, Jeremy, was just talking with me. It seems he told two of you that we could help you get fuel from one of our bases." He paused and looked expectantly toward Patric and Chris.

"Yes, sir," replied Anny. "He did - and that's exactly what we were discussing here."

"Jeremy can be a bit impetuous at times. I realize that something like that should not have come from a boy, but he is correct. You could get fuel from us and I'd like to help you get it."

Anny was surprised. Considering the attitude of Captain Reinl toward them, Anny was not expecting this sort of cooperation. She had been expecting the man to declare that in spite of Jeremy's statements, they would get no help from the belters – instead he says just the opposite!

"That is…uh, that is very kind of you, sir," said Anny. "May I ask why you are so eager to help us out?" It was not a very polite question, and Anny knew it, but she had to ask.

Reinl looked down at the table for a few seconds before responding. "Jeremy tells me that you are just here to refill your tanks after the damage you suffered. Once you are refueled, you will be leaving. Is that the truth?"

"Yes, sir, it is. Naturally we will report to our superiors about the situation at Scalloway, but I can't promise that they will take any action."

"I'm not really concerned about that, Commander," said Reinl. "Jeremy is certain that as soon as you get word back to your people, an entire fleet will arrive to kick out the Peeps. I don't care about that, I just want you out of here." He looked around the table and seemed to be struggling with something. "Please try to understand. I don't blame you for what you've done and you've treated us with more kindness than we could ask for-but you are killing my mother."

"What?" exclaimed Anny in shock. "Is she ill? Does she need medical attention? Our doctor can take a look…"

"No, no, it's nothing any doctor can fix!" The man suddenly got up from the table and turned away. There was not a sound in the conference room. Every eye was fixed on Thomas Reinl. After a moment he turned around again and sat down.

"I'm sorry. This is very difficult for me. My mother would stuff me out an airlock without a suit if she knew I was telling you this."

"Telling us what?" asked Anny. "Mister Reinl could you explain what is going on?"

"I'll try," he said with a sigh. "You already know some of it. Ten years ago the Resistance rose up against the Peeps. Before then, _Long Shot_ – the original _Long_ _Shot_—was one of the best known ships in all the Clans. I wish you could have seen her instead of that junk pile out there. She was a beauty: fusion plant, impeller drive, the works. My parents were widely respected and often looked to for leadership. Neither of them thought much of the idea of a revolt, but many others expected them to lead and they could not ignore that.

"So we worked to arm our ship. Looking back, it was pretty pitiful: a few mining lasers converted to weapons, some jury rigged thruster missiles with home-made guidance systems and fission bombs for warheads. But we were proud of her. Even so, we knew the risk we were taking. We had been salvaging things to build a second ship so our family could grow. We got it operational and transferred everyone not essential to man _Long Shot_ onto it. I was one; my mother was put in command."

Reinl paused and shook his head. "My father was as strong-willed as my mother. I don't know how they made the decision of which of them would go and which would stay. Knowing them, they probably cut cards or drew straws. In any case, half the family went out to fight – and didn't come back."

He paused again and the remembered pain creased his face. "I don't know anything about you people. I don't know what you've experienced so I can't pretend that what we suffered was worse than any other. But it was bad. When we realized they wouldn't be coming back, we didn't know what to do. A lot of us just wanted to open up both doors of one of the airlocks and follow them. My mother spent an entire day alone in her cabin. I can't imagine what she was going through.

"But then she came out and took charge. The family would continue, she declared, and she made it happen. That ship out there might not look like much, but you should have seen the wreck she was when we started. Some might have despaired: we went from one of the richest families in the Clans to one of the poorest. The fact that there were other families who did not fight and who now looked down their noses at us did not help either. But my mother pulled us together, made us into a crew and a family again. We survived and bit by bit we have started to prosper. She did that through sheer will. She guided us and protected us and led us."

Thomas Reinl looked into Anny's eyes. "And now you've taken that away from her."

Anny opened her mouth but nothing came out.

"I know it's not your fault," said Reinl. "You're just doing for your people what she did for us. But it's killing her, Commander! She feels like she's failed. She's powerless now; the well being of her family is in _your_ hands, not hers. She sits in her cabin and I can see the life just draining out of her. She won't last another eight months of this. And the only thing I can do is to try and help you people to get the fuel you need to get out of here!"

Anny just stared at the man. First the news about Commander Brock and now this! A few minutes ago she had a serious decision to make. Now she knew that the decision was no longer hers. She had no real choice at all. And just as clearly she knew it was the wrong decision. Somehow, she _knew_.

But there was no other choice, unless…

"I suppose we could just let you go now, Mister Reinl. We'd need promises that you would not tell anyone about us, but I think we can trust you."

There was a stir around the conference table, but she kept her eyes fixed on the belter. Her officers knew, just as she did, that she was facing a far sterner test of her leadership abilities than she faced that day in the grav wave.

And she felt like she was failing the test.

She was letting sentimentality cloud her judgment. She was going to risk her ship and her crew – one way if not another – for the sake of two people. She knew she was going to do it and she knew it was the wrong thing to do – and she despised herself for her weakness.

The belter was startled. There was a strange light in his eye as he stared back at her. "You'd do that? You'd let us go?"

Anny did not trust herself to speak, so she just nodded.

Thomas Reinl looked down at the table again.

"I…I thought you were decent people from the start, Commander," he said after a moment. "If you'd been like the Peeps, you would have just blown us away without warning. And then the repairs you've been doing to _Long Shot_. You didn't have to do that, but you did. I think that _Long Shot_ maybe owes a debt to _Lionheart_, now."

He straightened up. "And debts must be paid! Commander Payne, my offer still stands. I'll get you your fuel. Somehow, I'll get it for you!"

"You don't really have to, Mister Reinl. If you can just keep your people quiet, that's all we ask."

"Actually, getting the fuel might be easier than keeping them quiet," replied the belter a bit sheepishly. "If you do let us go, we'll be heading for the Clan Gathering in about four months. A lot of weddings and partying will be going on and young tongues do tend to wag. It might be hard to keep their great adventure a secret."

"Four months," said Anny. "Even if someone did let something slip it would probably be another month before word got to anyone who might take action. We'd be nearly done with our fueling by then. It does not seem to be too big of a risk."

"But, Commander, I really can get you the fuel. It won't be quite as simple as Jeremy probably made out, but it can be done – and we owe it to you!"

"Just how difficult will it be, Mister Reinl?" asked Lieutenant Daley.

"There's an asteroid base, called Hamnavoe, not too far from here. I know some of the people there. They could provide the fuel – just pure hydrogen, I'm afraid; we'd have to go a lot farther to find a hydrogen-boron mix. I couldn't get it for free without making a lot of promises that would raise too many questions. But if you would be willing to trade one of your pinnaces, that would more than cover the expense."

"Wouldn't that pinnace raise a lot of questions on it's own, Mister Reinl?" asked VanVeen. "It's Peep-built, you know."

"Actually, that's best," replied the belter. "The Peeps haven't had it all their own way around here. There's a lot of captured or salvaged Peep gear among the Clans. I could just claim that we found the pinnace drifting and salvaged it."

"And what about the exchange?" asked Lieutenant Brown. "How do we get the fuel and turn over the pinnace without raising an alarm?"

"Well, that's going to be the trick," said Reinl. "The people I deal with are friends, but they are not going to believe I need that much fuel for my own use! I'll have to tell them at least part of the truth, and it would be good if a few of your people could come along to verify what I'm telling them."

"Yes, we were assuming that much even before you came in," said Anny. "How risky will it be? Jeremy says there is no Peep garrison there, is that true? I can't risk having my people captured."

"No, there has never been a garrison on Hamnavoe. You don't know much about us, but there are a _lot_ of bases in this system! Hamnavoe is pretty typical: maybe four or five thousand permanent residents. And there must be close to a thousand bases like that scattered through the belt and further out-system. The Peeps couldn't possibly garrison all of them even if they wanted to. Only a couple of the really big bases have garrisons. Most of the Peeps are around the planet rather than out here."

"But there must be some sort of local authorities," said VanVeen. "Won't they take some interest in what we are doing there?"

"Only if they find out," said the belter with a grin. "And maybe not even then. Your people would not have to do much other than stay out of sight until I'm ready to clinch the deal."

"How many of our people would you want to go along?" asked Anny.

"Maybe four or five, Commander. Our scooter can hold a dozen, but we don't really need that many. I figure just me and Jeremy and your people. I pretty much have to take Jeremy along," added Reinl. "If I didn't, he would be miserable, and more importantly, his grousing might get back to my mother."

"You are not going to tell Captain Reinl?"

"No, ma'am. If she found out, she would never permit it. But if she doesn't find out…"

Anny nodded and tapped her index finger on the table absently.

"I see. All right, Mister Reinl. I'm going to need to discuss this with my staff. I thank you for your help, and I'll give you my decision as soon as possible."

"Thank, _you_, Commander. I hope we can work this out to everyone's profit." The man got up and left the conference room.

After he was gone there were several moments of silence. Anny could feel the eyes of everyone in the room on her.

"So who do we send?" she said at last.

"Skipper," said VanVeen, "you're not going to…I mean just because…Oh, Hell, who am I kidding? Okay, who should we send?"

Anny actually laughed. The fact that VanVeen was not going to fight her over this was like a huge weight being lifted from her.

"Four or five total," mused Daley. "I would think two or three officers and a couple of marines."

"Yes, that's what I was thinking," said Anny. "But which officers?"

"Skipper?" Anny turned and saw Patric looking at her expectantly.

"Yes, Lieutenant?"

"Commander Tropio and I were discussing this before the meeting. With all due respect to everyone present, we've seen that these belters don't know Grayson from a hole in the ground. But they have heard of Manticore. If Mister Reinl is going to need us to give credibility to the deal, perhaps it would be a good idea to send Manticorans."

A chill went through Anny, but she suppressed the shudder. She had been afraid it was going to come to this from the moment Patric and Chris had approached her with the idea. The problem was that it _did_ make a lot of sense.

"So you are suggesting yourself, Commander Tropio, and Lieutenant VanVeen?" asked Daley.

"I can't spare Lieutenant VanVeen," said Anny. _And I can't spare Patric or Chris either!_ screamed a part of her inside. "He's vital to keeping the fuel plants running, and he will be supervising the node relocation—which I still intend to proceed with."

Daley nodded. "That makes sense, ma'am. But Commander Tropio and Lieutenant McDermott would be good choices. The belters – especially this Jeremy – seem to trust them."

A stab of suspicion went through Anny. _They are also my two strongest supporters. Are you hoping to get rid of them Mister Daley?_ It was an unfair thing to think, and Anny chastised herself for it, but she could not banish the thought.

"I'm afraid I have to agree," said VanVeen. "We can have Lieutenant Hickman give us a pair of steady NCOs. Do you want to pick another officer, Ma'am, or just leave the party at four?"

Another thought struck Anny. _It would increase their chances a lot, but it would leave me even more vulnerable here. Should I do it? What choice do I have?_

"I think I'd like to include one more," said Anny slowly. "I think we'll include Ensign Floyd Dominic from engineering."

"Dominic?" said VanVeen in surprise. "He's pretty green, ma'am. May I ask why you want to send him?"

"I have my reasons, Lieutenant."

"Yes, ma'am."

VanVeen's look of surprise was mirrored in most of the other faces around the table, but Patric suddenly had an expression of understanding. Ensign Floyd Dominic was not really an ensign. For all that Anny knew, his name was not Dominic, either. He was a lieutenant and also one of the operatives that Naval Intelligence had put aboard _Alliance_ after the incident with the welding laser. Captain Christopher had made certain that at least one of them was included in the prize crew. Who better to send on a cloak and dagger mission like this but a real spy? Of course, with him went the last of Anny's sworn allies on _Coeur_ _de Lion_.

"All right," said Anny. "I think we have the major points settled. We'll have to get together with Mister Reinl again to iron out all the details. But that's all for right now. I need to think this over before I give the go-ahead. Thank you all for your input."

With a chorus of "Yes, ma'am's" her officers stood up and started filing out of the compartment. Most of them seemed excited by the prospect of getting fuel. Only VanVeen seemed set against it. Anny herself still felt the certainty that she was making a mistake.

"Commander Tropio, Lieutenant McDermott, would you remain a moment?"

The pair stopped and waited until the rest had left. Anny stared at them and they stared back. They had twinkles in their eyes and were obviously suppressing grins. Anny did not feel like grinning in the slightest.

"What am I going to do with you?" said Anny at last. "You've put me in a real bind and you know it."

"Come on now, Anny," said Chris. "Why should you be the one to have all the adventures? It's our turn now! Or at least it's my turn—I guess you've already had one or two, Patric."

"It will be all right, Anny," said Patric gently. He knew what this was doing to her. Anny thought about how the Royal Navy had regulations against romantic involvement between people in the same chain of command. Just now it made more sense than it ever had before. Of course, the Grayson Navy had no such regulation – there was no need – and the special 'male protector' status of Patric would have probably overruled it even if it had existed. But Anny was not in love with Chris and her fear of sending her in harm's way was nearly as great as it was for Patric. _Can a commander allow herself to even have friends? What a lonely life that must be!_

Anny just shook her head. "The two of you be careful. I have a very bad feeling about this."

**Chapter Thirty-Three**

**P**atric was wondering why he had been so eager to go on this mission. He had not paid much attention to the small craft the belters called a "scooter" when he was working on _Long Shot_. If he had, he might have thought a little more carefully before volunteering. It was a spacecraft stripped down to just about the bare essentials. From the outside, it looked like a small shuttle, but no shuttle Patric had ever been on was as cramped and uncomfortable as this one.

The scooter was basically a framework that held a thruster at one end, several fuel tanks to power the thruster, a modest amount of cargo space and a small(!) cabin for crew and passengers. When Mister Reinl said that it could carry a dozen, he must have meant a dozen _very_ friendly people!

It didn't even have a life support system.

The 'cabin' was pressurized, but there was no recycling system for the air. The passengers were expected to live in their space suits for the whole time, breathing the air their suits provided. They would only open their visors briefly to eat or drink. Clearly this vehicle was only intended for short hops and the two-day journey to Hamnavoe was stretching its range to the limit. It did not have grav plates, either, but they spent almost the entire trip under thrust so that did not really matter.

It would not have been that bad except the belters did not wear skinsuits. They wore a bulkier and somewhat old-fashioned pressure suit and helmet. Patric and the others would be traveling incognito so they could not wear their skinsuits without calling attention to themselves. They had to borrow a few pressure suits from the belters.

Finding one to fit Patric had not been easy.

Fortunately, the belters were not as short as the Graysons on average. They had found a suit that Patric could squeeze into, but it was definitely too small and after two days, very uncomfortable.

About the only thing to do on the scooter –other than try to sleep—was to talk. He did a good bit of that and it was mostly with Jeremy. The young man seemed fascinated with these outlanders who had dropped so suddenly into his life. Chris Tropio usually joined these conversations and she and Patric learned quite a bit about the belters, although most of it was not terribly useful.

Floyd Dominic was not at all talkative—although it was obvious that he was absorbing every bit of information he could get from listening to Jeremy- and Patric gave up trying to make conversation with him. The two marines, Lee Gadd and Joe Baladarno, were equally uncommunicative. But Chris liked to talk and Patric found that she made a good companion. It was actually sort of a relief to have another Manticoran to talk to.

"So, what do you think of your big adventure, Chris?" asked Patric. They had been aboard the scooter nearly forty hours and still had another eight to go to reach Hamnavoe. They had hooked their suits' com systems together so they could talk in private. Most of the other passengers appeared to be asleep.

"I'm thinking that this is the part that the holo-adventure writers must leave out of their scripts. Boring, cramped and uncomfortable. Not exactly a story I'm going to be telling my grandchildren!"

"Well, I'm sure it will be more interesting when we get there. I'm just hoping it doesn't get _too_ interesting."

"Yeah, I'll go along with that," said Chris.

"I'm still a little amazed that Anny actually let us go."

"Actually, I'm more amazed that she let _you_ go," said Chris with a grin.

Patric looked at her sharply, but then he smiled, too. "I guess it is a little awkward for her to be without her 'male protector'."

"And her best friend."

Patric blushed, but then he nodded.

"She really loves you, you know," said Chris.

His blush deepened and he nodded again. "I know. I'm pretty fond of her, too."

Chris chuckled. "'Fond' is it? A bit more than that I think. And she needs you, Patric. Back on _Alliance_ if she didn't see you for a few days and then saw you again, I could tell the difference. It's even more like that now."

"She likes you a lot, too, Chris. I'm really glad you two are friends," said Patric.

Chris was silent for a few moments and her usually smiling face became thoughtful. "I liked her from the first," she said. "But later, I could see that she was someone really special. Someone I could trust and admire. Someone I could follow – I just never thought I'd end up following her so soon! From all that I've heard and seen, she's got that special something like Admiral White Haven, or Admiral Harrington."

"Don't let her hear you say that, Chris!" said Patric with a grin.

"Oh! Don't I know it! Angie Harcourt made that mistake back on _Alliance_. Anny almost bit her head off! I'd never seen her like that before. She apologized later, but it seemed so strange. What's the deal with her and Harrington?"

"Well, she worships the ground Honor Harrington walks on," said Patric. "Nothing unusual about that, I guess. A lot of Graysons are like that. But Anny takes it to a bit of an extreme. I suppose that's understandable, too, considering who and what Anny is. I think she has set Harrington as her role model and ideal. But it's an ideal that by definition is unreachable. She can never be as good – at anything – as Harrington and for anyone to make the comparison is just insulting her idol. We've talked about it a few times, and she admits her attitude doesn't make a great deal of sense, but there it is."

"Well, I hope she can get over that," said Chris. "She might not be Honor Harrington, but she's a damn fine officer. She still needs experience, but she's going to go far – and not just because the Grayson high command is pushing her."

"I'm real proud of her," said Patric. "She's doing an incredible job holding things together here. I just wish I could take some of the burden off her."

"You're doing that just by being around, big fella. So are you two planning to get married sometime? This 'male protector' thing has got to be a bit tiresome by now."

Patric shook his head. "The political situation won't allow it for the time being. We're hoping that will change eventually. It's frustrating the hell out of Anny, but I figure I can wait as long as necessary."

"Yeah," chuckled Chris. "I could tell she's not too happy with the situation. Of course part of that, I think, is that the Graysons have not really grasped just what the introduction of prolong really means. Most of them are still thinking in terms of an eighty or ninety T-year lifespan. You grow up and you get married and have kids, no time to waste. It's hard for them to grasp that now they can have a career and wait a century if they have to before they start a family."

"Well, I don't think the Star Kingdom has fully adapted to it yet either. My mother keeps asking me about when we are going to get married, too." Patric grinned and shook his head.

Chris nodded. "I know what you mean. When I was just a kid, my great grandparents were still around—pre prolong, of course. They seemed incredibly ancient—like Captain Reinl. But my grandparents did not seem that old, and my parents still look about the same as I do – and will for a long time yet. It will seem weird when _my_ great grandchildren are running around having kids and my own parents will hardly seem much older than me."

Chris was silent for a while and Patric could see through her visor that her face had become thoughtful again, almost grim.

"I wonder if they've told our families yet?"

A chill went through Patric. It was something he had tried not to think about. But he _had_ thought about it and he was sure every person aboard _Lionheart_ had been thinking about it, too.

"I don't know," he answered. "We'd be listed as overdue for about four months now. I imagine whatever search they mounted has finished up empty handed by this time. I suppose they would report us as missing by now. I sure hope they tell our folks not to write us off yet."

"Me too," said Chris. "I've got a lot of family and we're pretty close. One of my cousins was in the marines and was killed a few years back. It really tore people up. When they get word that I'm missing, it's going to be tough on everyone."

"Yeah, I have a big family, too. I can't bear to think how my mother will react."

"Everyone on board has been thinking about it, Patric. I think that's why they are so eager for this deal to get the fuel to work. If it was just a matter of losing a T-year, that would not bother most people – well probably the Graysons more than most, just like we were talking earlier about the prolong. But it's the thought of what their families are going to be going through that is bothering most people."

"Well, let's keep out fingers crossed that we can get the fuel and get home soon," said Patric.

"Amen to that," said Chris. She looked at her chrono. "Almost eight more hours 'til we get to this place. I think I'll try and get a little sleep."

"Good idea," replied Patric. They disconnected their com-link. Patric leaned back as far as he could in his chair and closed his eyes.

[Scene Break]

Hamnavoe Base was growing in the viewport. Thomas Reinl was slowly piloting them toward their assigned berth, but the rest of them were trying to get a glimpse of their destination. The base looked like a lumpy rock floating in space – which is exactly what it was, of course. The light from the distant sun was not bright, but the large, gray object seemed dazzling when set against the black background. Brighter reflections along with dark shadows gave the rock a strong texture.

Patric's eyes were drawn to the numerous small craft and mining ships flitting about or drifting nearby. There seemed to be dozens of them. Some of them looked a lot like _Long Shot_, but others were clearly in much better shape. As they got closer, he could see various bits of construction projecting from the sides of the rock. Most seemed to be small building slips, but there were other things he could not identify. He spotted what looked to be fuel storage tanks and nudged Chris. She saw and nodded. That was what they were there for, but he was still amazed at the number of vessels.

"Mister Reinl, you said that Hamnavoe is only one of about a thousand bases like this?"

"About that, I guess," answered the belter, not taking his eyes from his instruments. "The number changes and I don't know what the count is up to at the moment."

"And are they all like this? There seem to be a lot of small ships here."

"It's pretty average. Some are bigger and some are smaller. The mining ships come here to sell what they've found and to buy things from the traders and the builders. But the miners spend most of their time out prospecting."

Patric mulled that over and grew more and more impressed. There were easily two dozen mining ships visible here. Multiply that by a thousand bases and then multiply again to account for all the miners away from a base…

_What a huge operation! Gryphon's Unicorn Belt doesn't have a fraction that many ships! Granted they are bigger and more efficient than these, but still! What can they all be for?_

In the four months they had been here, they had only detected a few hyper footprints. Clearly the belters were not selling much of their production out-system. What were they doing with it? Obviously a lot of it went to building more ships and bases, but why? Patric almost asked Thomas Reinl for an explanation, but something held him back.

The base was now an enormous gray wall floating in front of them. The scooter slid into a small indentation in the rock wall and some magnetic grapples secured it a few meters from an airlock. There was no boarding tube and to get into the station involved evacuating the air from the scooter's cabin and then just jumping across into the airlock. The party all made it without a problem. Once inside, the outer door of the lock closed and a minute later, the inner door opened and they were inside.

Patric had been concerned about a security check. They had fake I.D. cards, but they might not stand up to close scrutiny. He was more concerned about the pulser pistols they were carrying, but his worries proved groundless. As Thomas Reinl had promised, there was no security check. Reinl simply had to pay another belter for the use of the docking bay and that was all. The woman scarcely glanced at Patric and the others.

From there, they headed for a hostel where they could stay. It might have been safer to remain aboard the scooter, but that would have drawn far more attention than just getting a place to stay and staying there.

Besides, they all needed a shower.

The manager at the hostel was a bit snoopier than the docking bay attendant had been. He seemed to know Reinl and wanted to gossip and he asked who Reinl's friends were. Reinl spun him a yarn that seemed to satisfy him and shortly they were in their rooms. They got a suite of four rooms with a common living area and two bathrooms.

While Patric was waiting for his turn in the shower he explored their quarters. It could have easily passed for accommodations on a normal ship or base except that several of the walls were just bare rock. It seemed to be a deliberate design decision. Patric had seen a number of places walking through the base that were set up like that. It lent a strange, subterranean feel to the place. There was a view screen set into the rock of one wall, but it was not as realistic as the sort they had aboard ship and it did not dispel the slightly claustrophobic feeling Patric was getting. It was not like being on a ship at all; it felt more like being in a cave deep underground. Still, there were numerous green plants that softened the starkness and Patric did not think he would have any problem with staying here for a few days.

After they had all showered they gathered in the common area. Patric and the others were wearing borrowed coveralls.

"I guess there is nothing to be gained by waiting," said Thomas Reinl. "With your permission, I'll go down to the fuel dealer and see what I can do."

They had already discussed their plan of action. Reinl and Dominic would go together. Jeremy wanted to go, too and after a bit of debate, he was allowed to. It was obvious that Dominic was not happy with that decision, but his reasons for not allowing it sounded far too much like keeping the boy as a hostage for Reinl's good behavior. Patric and Chris overruled him on that one. Patric had no doubts about the good faith of the belters.

The trio departed and then there was nothing to do but wait. They had spent the last two days waiting, but at least now it was far more comfortable. Or would have been if they were not all so nervous. Just a few hours would tell them if the trip had been worth it. Just a few days might see them with enough fuel to get home. Patric tried not to get his hopes up too high, but it was not easy.

An hour passed and then two. Reinl had told them that it could take a while, but it was hard to wait. Patric and the others took turns pacing. They tried watching the entertainment stations on the viewscreen, but most of what they saw made little sense to them. They kept looking to the com panel and then to the main door of the suite. Reinl was not sure if he would be contacting them by com or coming back to the hostel.

Three hours had passed and Patric was definitely getting nervous when he heard someone punching in the entry code to the suite's door.

"Well, it's about time," he said as he got to his feet and headed for the door.

The door slid open, but it was not Thomas Reinl, or Floyd Dominic, or even Jeremy Carstairs. The man facing Patric was wearing the black and scarlet uniform of a State Security officer of the People's Republic!

Patric was so startled that the Blackleg hardly needed to command 'freeze' or level his pulser rifle at him to fix him in place. He had always imagined that if faced with such a situation, he would dive to one side, roll, and come up with his pulser in hand to gun down his adversary. But his pulser was sitting on his bed, impossibly far away, and his muscles were frozen by shock and indecision.

He heard the shouts of alarm from his companions, but there were pounding feet and more commands to stop. Patric wrenched his head around and saw that a crowd of Peeps were coming into the common room from the bedrooms. Two of the bedrooms in the suite had doors that opened on the corridor – doors that had been locked.

They didn't have a chance. In an instant there were a dozen Peeps in the room, all with leveled weapons. Patric and the others had no choice but to freeze. It was all happening so fast. Patric had barely gotten to the conclusion that the three others must have slipped up somehow when his hands were roughly pulled behind him and locked into a set of handcuffs. The click of the metal seemed to partially release him from his shock and he tugged futilely at the bonds – but it was far too late.

A moment later, the four were being hustled down the corridor. Two Peeps were holding each of them by the arms, while the others kept their weapons ready. Rifle butts were quick to prod them along if they hesitated.

This couldn't be happening! There were no Peeps on the base! He refused to believe that the belters had betrayed them, it must have been some sort of surprise raid. Jeremy wouldn't betray them, he just wouldn't!

They met no one. The Peeps kept pushing and pulling them along. Patric's shock was giving way to panic. They had been caught! The absolute worst thing that could happen had happened! His mind raced frantically to catch up with events. What do they do now? They couldn't give away that they were from the Alliance. They couldn't tell the Peeps about the ship!

He still had no idea what to do when they were shoved through a hatch into a comfortable and well-appointed office. Several Peep SS officers were waiting for them. They did not look surprised – or friendly.

As Patric tried to catch his breath he became aware that Floyd Dominic was already there. The NavInt man had blood on the side of his head and looked dazed. Were it not for the SS goon holding him upright, it looked as though he would fall to the deck. There was no sign of Thomas Reinl or Jeremy.

"Well, I see we have them all," said one of the Peep officers. "Did they give you any trouble?"

"No, Citizen Captain!" said one of the Peeps who had caught them. "We took them by surprise, just as you said."

"Excellent! Another band of terrorists out of circulation." The Peep came around his desk and walked up to the captives. He went down the line staring at each in turn. Patric thought he had an evil look and from what he had heard about the SS he was sure it fit the man perfectly. He turned and walked over to his desk. The pulser pistols Patric and the others had been carrying had been placed there. He picked one up and stared at it. It was a Peep weapon. They had taken them from the ship's small arms locker. It seemed to be safer than carrying Grayson manufactured weapons.

"I wonder who they murdered to get these? Well, they won't murder anyone else! Five here, plus the other two. Seven traitors eliminated! Something nice to report to the Citizen General!"

Patric started. That confirmed that Thomas Reinl and Jeremy had been captured, too. But where were they? And what did he mean 'eliminated'?

"What…what have you done with the others?" said Patric, finding his voice.

"I'll be asking the questions here, traitor," said the Peep with a sneer. "But just for your peace of mind, the man, Reinl, had to be questioned rather vigorously to tell us about you four. He won't be joining us. As for the little one, he tried to get away and Citizen Sergeant Worrel got to demonstrate his excellent marksmanship – he won't be joining us either."

"No!" exclaimed Patric in shock. _They'd killed Jeremy!_ "You murdering bastards!" he shouted. A rifle butt slammed into his stomach without warning and doubled him over. He fought for breath and pulled at the two men holding him, but he could not get loose.

"You sons of bitches!" cried Chris Tropio at his side. "He was just a boy and you shot him! Damn you! Damn…,"

Patric straightened up and saw that the SS officer was now in front of Chris. His large hand had come up and grabbed her by the throat, cutting off her curses.

"Well, well, what have we here? I was just going to have you all shot, but perhaps a little interrogation first might be interesting. I'm sure you'd be very interesting to question. I wonder what a little rebel whore could tell me?"

His hand left her throat and drifted down the front of Chris Tropio's jumpsuit. Suddenly his hand went to her breast and squeezed. Tropio yelped slightly but fixed a burning stare on the Blackleg. The man just chuckled.

He was standing at an angle so that Chris could not put a knee where it would do the most good, and the two guards holding her kept her from twisting around. But her head was free, and she spit into the Peep's face.

It wasn't the best spit ever made and only a spattering of saliva reached the intended target, but the Peep let go of her and stepped back in surprise. Then he smiled. He reached into a pocket and brought out a handkerchief and dabbed at his face. He turned slightly away from Tropio and shook his head.

Without warning he swung back and slammed his fist into Chris' stomach. She bent over with a gasp of pain. His fist came up and smashed into her face. She jerked upright and Patric could see the blood gushing out of her nose and from her split lip. She slumped limply in her guards' grasps.

"Leave her alone!" cried Patric. He twisted violently and even though his huge strength could not snap the metal handcuffs, he caught one of his captors off guard and flung him off. The second hung on but just barely. Patric lunged at the SS officer, intent on knocking him down and stomping on him if he could.

He almost made it.

A flurry of rifle butts, kicks, and punches beat him to the deck. He dimly heard the two marines struggling with their guards, but it subsided quickly.

Through a haze of pain he heard the SS officer speaking.

"No, I don't think questioning them would be terribly interesting after all. And these rebel cells are too well compartmentalized. They won't be able to tell us anything useful. Ah well, enough of this."

"Have them executed – immediately."

**Chapter Thirty-Four**

**R**ough hands hauled Patric to his feet. He and the others were dragged out of the office and down another set of corridors. His dazed brain tried to comprehend what was happening. They were going to be shot. The Peeps were going to shoot them. He couldn't grasp it. It was too impossible to be true.

His head cleared slightly as they were brought into another compartment. One wall was lined with a padding that Patric vaguely remembered seeing at the firing range back on Saganami Island. There were a number of metal hooks set into the wall. But right now, Patric only noticed the bloodstains on the wall and deck.

He tried to resist, but it was useless. He and the others were hauled over to the wall and somehow his handcuffs were fastened to one of the hooks. He tugged but there was no give at all. Once they were all secure, the Peeps retreated to the opposite side of the room and formed a line.

"Should we blindfold 'em, Sarge?" laughed one of them.

"How 'bout a last meal?"

"How about _we_ question the little bitch for a while?" quipped another.

Patric turned his head and saw that Chris Tropio seemed to be conscious, but she looked badly dazed. Her nose was still bleeding freely and the red stain ran down the front of her jumpsuit. Floyd Dominic did not look much better. The two marines seemed reasonably alert, despite blood and bruises on their faces.

"Nah, she don't look too good right now," said the one who seemed to be in charge. "Let's just get this done with."

"Ready!" he commanded. Patric saw the Peeps bring up their pulser rifles to port arms.

Most of him still couldn't accept it, but part of him was screaming to do something. The sudden realization that he was about to die set his mind racing again. The only thing he could possibly say to stop the Peeps was to identify himself as a Manticoran – assuming they would even believe him. But then they would question him and the others. And he had no illusions about his ability to resist the Peeps' interrogation techniques-and they'd just shoot him in the end anyway. And when he talked, they would find out about the ship – and about Anny.

Anny.

"Aim!" The Peeps brought up their guns and pointed them at him.

Patric closed his eyes and thought about Anny. About how much he loved her. About the anguish she would suffer when she learned she had sent them off to their deaths. The thought of her pain was almost too much to bear. It was worse than his own death. It was…

He opened his eyes.

He was still alive.

The Peeps standing in front of him had lowered their weapons and were staring at him with a strange expression. The officer who had sentenced them to die had entered the room and was staring at them, too. After a few moments he walked over in front of them.

"All right, you're not Peeps," he said. "Who the hell are you?"

[Scene Break]

A half-hour later they were sitting in comfortable chairs, back in the office they had first been in. Several medics were treating their wounds.

"Dammit, Sean! You didn't have to break her nose!" said one of the women accusingly.

The man she had addressed, the man that until a short while ago had appeared to be an SS captain, looked at her and frowned.

"We had to be sure, Lucinda."

He turned to face Patric and the others.

"My name is Sean Magarrigle. I'm sorry for what we did to you," he said. "I hope you can understand that we had to be sure. If you had been Peeps, there's no telling how much damage you might have done to us."

"I…I assume that you are with the resistance that the Reinls told us about," said Patric. "Where are they, by the way? They're all right aren't they? You didn't really shoot Jeremy, did you?"

"No, they're fine. And you should know that they did not betray you, either. We spotted you as strangers the moment you came on the base. That made us curious. We don't know every single belter in Scalloway, but we keep a watch on any we don't know. When Thom Reinl tried to buy all that fuel we got really suspicious. The manager of the fuel plant is one of us, so he stalled until we could get there. Mister Dominic's… strenuous objections to being detained told us that something was amiss. We listened to Thom Reinl's story – he assured us that you were friends—but we had to be sure that you were not really Peeps in disguise. Once we had his story we set up our own little masquarade to test you."

"I see," said Patric. "Well, you certainly had me convinced."

"Yes, it was a bit of a rush to set things up, but it worked. Not even the most fanatical Peep would let himself be executed by his own people just to preserve his cover! I'm convinced you are not Peeps."

"You still didn't have to break her nose," said the woman who was treating Chris Tropio. "I think you were just enjoying your own performance too much."

"Shut up, Lucinda. I think you just enjoy giving me a hard time."

"Well, I do, of course," said the woman.

The man shook his head and turned back to Patric. He seemed to be assuming Patric was in charge, but at the moment, he was the only one of the officers in shape to talk anyway.

"That brings us to the question of just who you are?"

"Well, you said you heard what Mister Reinl's had to say," said Patric. "Assuming he did not leave anything out, that's pretty much the whole story."

"You are members of the Manticoran Alliance?" asked Magarrigle. Patric nodded.

"And you have a warship here in the system?"

Patric nodded again.

"What class?"

Patric was about to answer when a thought struck him. He was still a little dazed, but he had not had his wits completely addled.

"Uh, forgive me, Mister Magarrigle, but you were testing us to make sure we weren't Peeps. How do I know _you_ really aren't Peeps, either?"

Magarrigle leaned back in his chair and frowned. "A fair enough question, I suppose," he said. He got up from his chair and walked over to the desk. He picked up a compad and typed a few things into it. Then he brought it over and handed it to Patric. It was the most archaic computer pad Patric had ever seen, but it seemed to work well enough. Patric looked at what was on the screen for a few seconds. It was navigational information showing the position of _Lionheart_. He looked up at the belter.

"As you can see, we know where your ship is located. If we were Peeps, our forces would be headed there already. Anything I could trick you into telling me would just be incidental."

"I assume you got this from Mister Reinl," said Patric. "I'd really like to see him and Jeremy to confirm what you've been telling me."

Magarrigle looked uncomfortable and glanced around nervously. Patric's suspicions were quickly aroused.

"What's wrong?"

"Oh, he just doesn't want to bring Thom Reinl in here and let him see how badly he beat the crap out of you!" said the woman working on Chris. "Isn't that right, Sean?"

"Lucinda…" said Magarrigle in exasperation. But then he shrugged. "She's right, of course—she's always right. I was hoping to get you cleaned up a little first, but I can see there's no putting it off. I may as well get my head chewed off by everyone at once! All right, it will take a few minutes to get them here."

Magarrigle got on the com and sent for the two belters. While they waited, a medic tended to Patric. His injuries were mostly bruises. He winced as the man gently probed a few of the worst ones. Patric had not felt this banged up since the fracas back on Saganami Island. He was given something for the pain and was feeling quite a bit better by the time Thomas Reinl and Jeremy arrived. Patric breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the young man alive and unharmed.

Reinl came into the room with a worried look that quickly turned to one of shock and then outrage. He looked from one to the other taking in the cuts, bruises and bandages.

"Sean Magarrigle! You promised me they wouldn't be harmed! Look at them! You call this 'not harmed'?"

"We had to be sure, Thomas. Too much is at stake not to be sure."

"It was bad enough that you didn't accept my word," protested Reinl. "But to go and do this! When my mother hears about it, Sean, you better be on your way to the Oort Cloud on a fast ship!"

Magarrigle rolled his eyes and shook his head. "I'm counting on you and Jeremy to make sure she never does find out, Thom. If we get Eleanor Reinl really mad at the Resistance, we might as well just throw in the towel." The statement seemed like half a joke, but there was a note of seriousness, too. Patric remembered that _Long Shot_ and the Reinls had once been leaders in the first resistance movement.

The main thing, however, was that Reinl's reaction and statements proved to Patric that these people were not Peeps. Unless, of course, every person in this system was a Peep sympathizer and Patric could not believe that.

"Mister Magarrigle," said Patric, "I'm convinced that you are who you say you are. You were asking about our ship. She's an old heavy cruiser, _Charles Martel_ class, that we captured from the Peeps. We were taking her home as a prize when battle damage forced us to stop here to refuel."

"A heavy cruiser," said Magarrigle, obviously very interested. "She's fully armed? How badly damaged? What are your intentions after you get the fuel you need?"

"She's not too badly hurt," replied Patric carefully. "The Warshawski sails are out and we lost most of our fuel, but her impellers are fine and the weapons are nearly intact. Once we have the fuel we need to reach a friendly base, we plan to hyper out and head there."

"And what will you do then?"

Patric could tell that the man was keeping an intense excitement in check. It was obvious that he saw the arrival of _Lionheart_ as a chance to get help from the Alliance against the hated Peeps. Patric was not sure what to tell him.

"Well, we'll report in to our superiors. We'll give them a full report on the situation here in Scalloway. I'm sure we could convey any messages you would like to send. But what the admirals will do, I couldn't begin to say."

"Do you think they would send back a task force?" asked Magarrigle.

Patric hesitated. He had just said that he couldn't answer that question, but Magarrigle obviously wanted assurances that help would come back to Scalloway. Patric could not give that assurance. He was not going to tell the belter about Operation Anaconda. He did not need to know that, and as Patric thought back to the briefing by Admiral Newsum he realized that it was not necessarily encouraging news anyway. Even if a task force did come here as part of that operation and kick the Peeps out, they would only leave a tiny garrison with orders to run if the Peeps came back in strength. Patric felt a twinge of guilt at how he had approved of the strategy during the briefing. It made good military sense but it would be hard on the natives of the systems involved. He had chalked that up to wartime necessity without a qualm – but that was before he had met the people who would live and die by that necessity. How could he tell them that at best the people of Scalloway were scarcely even pawns in the largest war the galaxy had ever seen?

"I don't know, Mister Magarrigle, it's not up to me. If it was, I would certainly come back in strength, but the admirals may have other ideas. Can I ask what your plans are for me and my shipmates?"

The resistance leader leaned back in his chair and stared at Patric for a while.

"I certainly don't want to consider you as prisoners," he said, finally. "We both have the same enemy and it would make a great deal of sense to work together. But just as you are constrained by what your superiors want, so am I. My immediate superior is already on her way here to talk to you. It may have to go farther up the chain before any decisions can be made. If it were up to me, I'd be inclined just to give you your fuel and send a message requesting help—but it's not up to me. This is the most important thing to happen here in a long time, and I can't make those sorts of decisions on my own. It will take nearly a day for her to reach here, so I suppose you can consider yourselves my guests in the meantime."

"Can I get a message through to my ship?" asked Patric. "They will start to worry if they don't hear from us for long."

Magarrigle shook his head. "I'd rather wait until Moira gets here. Are your people expecting a signal that soon?"

Patric hesitated, he would love to get a message back to Anny and _Lionheart_, but it was not critical. They were not expecting immediate results and they would not start getting _really_ worried for another few days. He was not too happy with the answers he was getting from Magarrigle, but it seemed the best to cooperate for the moment.

"They will certainly worry if they don't hear from us soon," he said at last. "But I suppose we could wait for a day or so."

"Good," said Magarrigle. "While we wait, we can get you fixed up and show you a little hospitality to make up for what we did." He cast a glance at a frowning Thomas Reinl. "Or at least we can try to make it up."

[Scene Break]

The belters' hospitality was excellent. They grew an amazing variety of food in their hydroponics gardens and they seemed intent on stuffing their guests with all of it. It was a welcome change from the Peep rations that had been aboard _Lionheart_. Patric enjoyed himself and the two marines seemed to adapt well, but Floyd Dominic and Chris Tropio were not in the mood to play guests. Dominic was suffering from a concussion and retired to their quarters to rest very quickly. Chris stayed around, but did not seem very happy.

"Sorry your big adventure is turning into such a pain in the neck, Chris," said Patric, quietly at one point.

"Neck, nose, belly, ribs, you name it, it's a pain," replied Chris. She made no attempt to speak quietly and Sean Magarrigle, who was seated a few meters away, winced.

"Commander Tropio," he said. "Please believe me, I don't usually go around beating up people, certainly not attractive women. I'm very, very sorry for what I did, but we've had plenty of opportunities to see Peep methods around here and I had to act in a convincing fashion."

"Oh, you were convincing all right!" said Chris, testily. But she did not seem quite as angry. Patric could see that Magarrigle's comment about Peep methods had gotten through to her. Chris had to experience it for a few minutes; the people of Scalloway had been suffering here for seventy years. She scowled for a few moments and then her expression softened.

"But I guess you had to do it, didn't you? I mean what's a few bruises—or a broken nose—against what you people have been through?"

"I'm glad you can see it that way, Commander," said Magarrigle with a look of relief.

"And he's right about not beating up women," said the woman they now knew as Lucinda McCann, "Usually they beat him up instead."

"Thank you, Lucinda," said Magarrigle with infinite patience.

"The Peeps have been here for seventy T-years? What was Scalloway like before that?" asked Patric.

"Well, our history goes back quite a ways," replied Magarrigle. "All the way back to the early days of colonization, actually. We came here from Gram—61 Cygni. That's one of the closest stars to Old Earth—only three point four parsecs—and it was one of the first to be colonized by the old slowboat colonization ships. The initial long-range scans and probes had indicated that there was a planet that could be terraformed there. But at first, the colonists would have to stay in space until the planet became more habitable. A lot of the colonists were belters, even back then. The plan was that space based industry would support the terraforming efforts.

"The colonists got there, but the terraforming turned out to be a lot more difficult than anyone had imagined. Centuries went by without any real progress being made. The colonists adapted to living in space and the belters exploited the extensive asteroid belt. Eventually, the planet got to the state where they could start building domes and actually living on the surface. But it was still a pretty awful place and not that many wanted to go dirtside. They were used to living in space, so why go down to that hellhole?

"Then, when practical hyper travel was developed, there were lots of far more attractive worlds available. Those that could afford it moved to some of the better planets. Others opted to stay in the belt. With trade becoming practical, the riches in Gram's belt found a lot of markets. But as is often the case, most of the wealth ended up in the hands of just a few people and the belters were mostly pretty poor.

"Things stayed like that for a long time. Then some people began to realize that things were going to get even worse if they did not do something. Eventually, the belts would be mined out and even the trade would bypass Gram. It was a pretty grim looking future. Even back then, the belters were a clannish lot. All sorts of family ties held us together. The heads of the biggest clans got together and came up with a plan. They sold off as much of their claims and equipment as they had to and bought the colonization rights to Scalloway from one of the big exploration companies. Then they hired transport for those that wanted to go—almost a quarter million of us—and our ancestors ended up here.

"They knew that Scalloway would take a lot of terraforming—they could not afford one of the good worlds-but it was a far better world than Gram had ever been. It would take a while, but it would happen. Meanwhile, there was a good belt to exploit and they knew how to do it. I think the dream of all those people was to have a world of their own, with blue skies and green grass that their great grandchildren could walk and live on. They knew they would never live to see it, but they believed it would happen – and it did."

Magarrigle paused and shook his head.

"It happened. About a hundred T-years ago, the planet reached the stage where people could actually live on it. It's still a darn cold place, but the regions around the equator had warmed up enough that it was tolerable. Some of us moved down there and kept working to complete the terraforming. The rest of us stayed up here to provide the resources for the equipment that would be needed. Our dream was that all the mining and manufacturing would remain in space while the planet became a garden.

"But then the Peeps came.

"It was seventy T-years ago. They just came in here with a big fleet and a big occupation force and took over. We didn't have anything to fight back with. Just a few small ships for anti-piracy work. The Peeps had battleships and dreadnoughts, how were we supposed to fight that?

"They occupied the planet. At that point, their occupation force was probably larger than the whole population. They took over all the orbital stations, and a few of the biggest asteroid bases. They told us to just keep working and everything would be fine. At first we did—what choice did we have?

"But after a while we saw that the metals we mined and the equipment we manufactured were not going towards the terraforming effort, they were just being loaded on ships and sent outsystem. The people dirtside were conscripted to help the Peeps build their own facilities. Terraforming ground to a halt. We stopped cooperating with the Peeps. We weren't ready to fight back, but we stopped cooperating. We 'sold' less and less to them each year and diverted more and more to expanding our operations and population. We had always tried to keep our population growth in check, since it took resources to build more ships and more bases. Now, there was no reason not to grow – so we did."

"Ah!" exclaimed Patric. "I was wondering why there were so many mining ships and bases."

"Yes," said Magarrigle, "The Peeps had the planet and the orbital facilities, but we had the belt. The Peeps didn't like what we were doing, but there was no way they could stop us. There were just too many rocks out here to garrison. For a while they tried to occupy a lot of them, but they were stretched too thin and too many of their people had 'accidents'—asteroid bases are very dangerous places for non-belters, you know. After a while they gave up and pulled back to just a few bases. We still gave enough of our production to them to keep them from really getting angry, and as our numbers grew, we could actually increase what we gave them and still continue our growth."

Patric nodded and whistled silently to himself. If a belter operation put the majority of its resources into self-growth, the results could be amazing. He had never heard of a situation like this before. Every other belter operation was driven by market factors. You would not have more production than what the market could absorb. But here there was no market—except for their tribute to the Peeps. They could just grow and grow and…

"You were trying to get strong enough to kick the Peeps out?" asked Patric.

"I imagine that was in a lot of people's minds," said Magarrigle. "But if you look at the records, no one was building weapons at that point. I think it was mostly just a natural reaction to the situation. Our people had wanted a future for themselves down on the planet, but now that that was stolen, they tried to build a future out here in space. Three hundred and fifty years ago, there were a quarter million of us. Seventy years ago that had only grown to about four million. Today, there are close to twenty million."

"And you are ready to fight," said Patric.

"Now we are. We tried fighting ten years ago when we were not ready. We won't make that mistake again."

Magarrigle looked over his guests. "But I don't think I should be discussing our plans until my superior gets here. I imagine you would like to get some rest after this busy day."

[Scene Break]

Patric slept like the dead. The quick-heal used by the belters was badly outdated and put more strain on the user's system than modern versions. That, and the nervous exhaustion more than overcame his uneasiness at being a not-quite-guest, not-quite-prisoner of the belter resistance.

When he woke, he felt much better. The pain from his injuries had subsided although he has black and blue in a number of spots. Chris Tropio looked terrible. Her lip was still puffy and she had two black eyes – she looked a lot like Sandra Bennett had after the fight at the Academy. But she seemed to feel okay and was better disposed towards their 'hosts'. Floyd Dominic also seemed livelier although it was obvious he did not trust the belters. Whether that was because of real suspicions or just his chagrin at having been spotted and caught so easily, Patric did not know.

Patric always had a healthy appetite and the quick heal accentuated it as well. He put away a huge breakfast. Sean Magarrigle was their host and he was exerting all his charm to make amends to all of them, but especially to Chris Tropio. Somewhat to Patric's surprise, she was responding in a friendly fashion.

"Are you in charge of the resistance on just this base, or for a larger group?" she asked him.

"Well, I don't want to go into any details, you'll understand that secrecy is essential, and we don't give out information except on a need-to-know basis. But I am in charge of Hamnavoe and a number of associated groups on various ships. A lot of our organization is based on clan and family affiliations. It's not as tightly organized as it should be, I'm afraid, but we're an independent lot."

"So I've noticed," said Chris with a grin. It was as ugly a grin, with split lip and black eyes and bandaged nose, as Patric had ever seen, but Sean Magarrigle smiled a huge smile when he saw it.

"When is your superior due in?" asked Patric.

"In about six hours. But it might not settle anything once she gets here. I got a coded message an hour ago that someone even higher up will be coming and whoever it is –I don't even know—won't be here for nearly thirty-six hours."

"We noticed a lot of coded radio traffic that was not in Peep code when we first entered the system," said Patric. "I guess that was your people. Aren't you afraid the Peeps will go after you when they pick that up?"

"Not really," replied the belter. "Almost all of what you are picking up is just decoy traffic. Prospectors all over the system routinely send fake messages in code. The Peeps gave up trying to run it down a long time ago. That allows us pretty free communications."

"Thirty-six hours," mused Patric. "I hope our commander can wait that long."

"Sorry about that, but we just have to wait."

So they waited.

When Moira Russell arrived, she confirmed that they would have to wait for someone she simply referred to as "The Commodore". Russell talked with them, asked the same questions as Magarrigle had. They gave her the same answers and asked the same questions they had. Apparently nothing was going to happen until this mysterious "Commodore" got there.

While they waited, they were given a tour of Hamnavoe base. It was very impressive. The areas Patric had seen before had seemed cramped and claustrophobic. Now they were shown the public spaces and he was surprised and delighted. A huge area had been hollowed out of the center of the asteroid. The roof of the artificial cavern was easily two hundred meters overhead and the lighting was cleverly done so that you would think that it was sky overhead instead of a roof. There were green plants growing everywhere and vines hung down from the rocky walls. There were fountains and a stream and a waterfall splashing down. The effect was like being in a deep canyon on some tropical island. People strolled and children played on the grass.

"This…this is wonderful!" exclaimed Chris Tropio. "I never would have expected anything like this here!"

Sean Magarrigle smiled and nodded. "Most people think we belters live in our spacesuits and eat rocks and breathe vacuum out of choice. But we love places like this, too. We had hopes of creating something like this on the planet, but when that was denied us, we made it here – and in hundreds of other places as well".

"Oh! It's been a long time since I've seen real grass and trees!" said Chris. "We've been on one ship or another for too many months."

Magarrigle walked over to a plant and plucked a flower off of it. He came back over to Chris and presented it to her with a sweeping bow.

"Please accept this in partial repayment for the hurt I've caused you."

Chris Tropio blushed, adding another color to her already too colorful face, but she took the flower and smiled. "Thank you, Sean," she said. Magarrigle positively beamed. Patric glanced over to where Moira Russell was with Lucinda McCann. Lucinda whispered something in Russell's ear and they both laughed.

They spent quite some time in the park, but eventually the tour continued. They were shown the mineral processing facilities, where the ores brought in by the prospectors were refined. There were small manufacturing shops as well. Patric was impressed by the variety of products and equipment the belters were able to make. It looked very inefficient and labor intensive compared with the factories Patric was familiar with, but the items seemed to do the job. Magarrigle steered them away from one area. Patric caught a glimpse, however, and he felt certain that it was a weapons plant of some sort.

They finished up with the ship building slips. These were small, and the vessel they saw under construction had a hand made quality to it unlike the vessels of the Alliance. But it was an impeller driven craft and Patric noted what looked like a weapons mount in the bow.

They had a very pleasant dinner and social gathering afterward. Chris seemed to be spending a lot of time with Sean Magarrigle. Moira Russell attached herself to Patric and they talked for an hour or more. She was friendly enough, but Patric sensed a hard, driven woman behind that pleasant face. She gave out very little real information and was constantly plying Patric for more. She was skillful and he slipped up more than once and gave out information on _Lionheart_ and her crew. He noticed that several women were with Floyd Dominic and the two marines. He wondered if Jeremy had told them about the nearly all-male Grayson ship. Would the Graysons realize that those women might be after more than their company? He resolved to warn the others when they got back to their quarters.

Eventually, they did end back in their quarters. All were still fatigued by their ordeal and the quick heal. Chris had seemed rather reluctant to part company with Sean Magarrigle. Before they went to sleep Patric mentioned his concerns about over familiarity with the belters at this stage. The others just nodded and said they would be careful. Chris looked at him sharply. After the others retreated to their rooms, Chris fixed Patric with her eyes.

"Was that comment directed at me, Mister McDermott?"

"Partly. I noticed everyone was getting pretty chummy, and the way Moira was trying to squeeze information out of me, I figured a little caution was in order. You do seem to be getting a bit friendly with Sean, Chris."

"Yes, I guess I am, aren't I? He is charming when he's not trying to be a Peep. I don't normally go after men who beat me up, you know! But you are right, this isn't the time or place for it."

Chris got up and headed for her room.

"But who knows? Maybe later we'll find the right time or place. Good night, Patric."

[Scene Break]

The next day the Commodore arrived. Patric was feeling uneasy. He knew that Anny must be getting very worried by now with the lack of communication, and he was not feeling particularly hopeful about what this new meeting might bring. If they continued to prevent them from contacting the ship, he did not know what might happen. It was not out of the question that Anny might take _Lionheart_ and come looking for them. There was no telling how the belters would react to that.

Also, he found that he was the _de facto_ leader of the group. Chris outranked him, but she was deferring to him. It was true that he was a command officer, while she was an engineering specialist, but it made him feel self-conscious. When they had left on the mission, they had deliberately left the command arrangement vague. It had not seemed all that important at the time, but now Patric found the responsibility in his lap. He began to feel a little bit of what Anny had been going through.

They met the Commodore in a conference room that overlooked the central park. The window in the rock wall was about fifty meters above the floor of the 'canyon' and offered a spectacular view. But they had no time to admire it. Only moments after they entered the room, the Commodore and his staff arrived.

He was a big man, nearly as big as Patric. He looked about the same age as Thomas Reinl. White hair streaked his temples and he had a stern no-nonsense look about him. He came in and fixed his gaze on Patric. Patric felt extremely aware of how young he must look—of how young he really was.

"Lieutenant McDermott? I'm Perry Leighton." He held out his hand and Patric took it. For a moment there was a contest of strength as they tightened their grips, but Leighton did not push it and they let go after a moment.

"Pleased to meet you at last, sir," said Patric, forcing himself to meet the man's eyes.

"Yes, sorry about the delay. I understand you are eager to get word to your ship. Well, I hope we can do that very soon. Shall we sit down?"

The people quickly found seats. In addition to the five from _Lionheart_, the Commodore had four staff people with him and Moira and Sean had two apiece as well. It made a large gathering. Perry Leighton wasted no time getting down to business.

"Mister Magarrigle and Ms. Russell already have briefed me, so I know the basic situation: You are here with a heavy cruiser to get fuel. Once you've got it, either immediately from us, or in six months on your own, you'll be leaving to head back to one of your bases, correct?"

"Yes, sir," said Patric.

"And you can't make any promises about bringing back any help?"

"No, sir. I'm only a lieutenant and the admirals aren't likely to pay much attention to my recommendations."

"What about your captain? Would she be more likely to be able to influence them?"

Patric thought about it. Anny certainly had a lot of influence, whether she knew it or not. If she made an issue of it, the admirals probably would do something. But Patric could not see her doing that. And even then, there were no guarantees.

"Possibly, sir, but you have to realize that we can't make any predictions from here. I would hope they would send you help, but I can't promise that. Perhaps if we could take a delegation of your people to present your case…"

"Hummph!" snorted Leighton. "Delegations and negotiations and promises! I can't kick the Peeps out with promises! Ten years ago we rose up because we were sure the Manticorans would come and help us. I know it's not your fault that you did not, but my people still remember that no one came."

"I'm sorry, sir," said Patric. "I wish I could guarantee that help would come, but I can't." Perry Leighton fixed a hard stare on him.

"I know that, son. But I want something more substantial than promises or guarantees."

"I want that ship of yours."

**Chapter Thirty-Five**

**G**roup Commander Helen Zilwicki sat in her command chair aboard the LAC _Black_ _Magic_ and stared at the main viewer. She had been staring at it for hours, trying to will a contact into existence.

It wasn't working.

She, and one squadron of her group, was drifting through an uninhabited star system on what increasingly seemed like a hopeless search. _HMS Hydra_ had dropped them off here a week ago and would be picking them up again in another week.

It was an unconventional way of using a LAC carrier, but it would multiply their search capacity a dozen-fold. _Hydra_ was hopping from system to system in a pattern that would allow her to leave one squadron of LACs to search the system while the carrier went on to another system to drop off another squadron. Ultimately it would repeat the circuit, picking up each squadron and then proceeding to do it again. Most people tended to think of star systems as being very far apart, even for ships with hyper capability. But they were thinking of inhabited systems, which did tend to be widely spaced. It you were looking at _every_ star system, however, they were much closer together. Often, only a half-day in the upper hyper bands would suffice to get from one to the next.

Once in the system, the LACs would spread out and cruise entirely across it. In an uninhabited system like this one, they would use their active sensors and broadcast radio messages brazenly. Unlike most missions, here they wanted to call attention to themselves. If the missing ship was here, they wanted them to notice.

But so far, no one had.

It had been two months since their sudden recall to duty on Talbot. The task force had sped to the search area and then dispersed. It was obvious to Helen that Task Force 42 had been assigned to the job, not just because they were relatively close by, but because of their heavy logistical train. They could stay on station a long time, by periodically rendezvousing with their tankers and supply ships. When _Hydra_ picked them up this time, the carrier would be heading back to those tankers. The LAC jockeys were looking forward to that because it would mean a couple of weeks with no patrols.

But for Helen it would mean a couple of weeks when they were not searching for her friends.

No one in the task force knew Helen's friends were aboard the missing ship. She supposed that possibly Admiral Stokes and some of his staff might have known the identity of the missing people, but they would not have known of their link to her. Anyone close enough to Helen to know about her friendship with Anny and Patric was not high enough up to know that was who they were searching for – and Helen had not told them.

Part of Helen analyzed the situation dispassionately and said that this was a gross misallocation of resources. These ships should be out killing Peeps and helping crush the enemy—not searching for a handful of people who, in all probability, were already dead. Another part of her shied away from that thought. They had to be alive! They just had to! And the more time they spent searching, the more likely they would find them.

But they had not found them.

And with each passing day, that first part of her was more sure it was right, and the second part sunk further into despair. Helen had been amazed at how close she had gotten to Anny at the Academy—Patric, too, but not like Anny—but now, when it seemed likely that she would never see either of them again, only now did she begin to realize just how much they meant to her.

_I shouldn't allow myself to have friends. No commander can afford it._

But she did have friends. Even Randy Huber was her friend. She had permitted that friendship because she coldly calculated that with the nature of LAC service, it was highly unlikely that he might be killed while she survived. But Anny and Patric had been far away. They could be killed and Helen would still be left.

And that had probably already occurred.

She had maddeningly little hard information on what had happened. Alby's letter had not contained any real detail and the briefing they had received left many unanswered questions.

_Why the hell had they put Anny on a miserable little cruiser? She had been on one of the most powerful ships in the galaxy and that's where they should have kept her!_

Helen knew that her silent rage against some officer she did not even know was unfair. Anny probably volunteered for the duty. It would advance her career and Helen knew she would have done the same thing in her place. And it should have been an easy run back to Holiway. Only the worst sort of bad luck had let that Peep squadron find them.

And probably destroy them.

Helen tried not to think about it, but she couldn't stop herself. They had engaged in hyperspace, in a grav wave. Anny's ship had been hit by close range energy fire-no sidewalls. They had probably lost a sail. If they had a friendly consort, they might have been able to tow clear, but the other half of their pair was destroyed, too. Without both Warshawski sails a ship was unmaneuverable. It would tumble helplessly, buffeted by fluctuations in the wave. They could not even drop out of hyper since they could not control their entry angle. Any attempt to switch bands would be instantly fatal. They would be doomed, but they might not die immediately. If the wave's fluctuations were mild and they did not encounter any turbulence, they might drift for hours or even days before the ship's hull started to give way. All that time, they would be waiting helplessly, shaken and tossed by the wave that would destroy them sooner of later.

Eventually, the strain would start to tear the ship apart. Equipment would fail and they would lose their remaining sail. Without the inertial sump it provided, the buffeting would be much worse and the ship would come apart quickly. The crew would retreat to the small craft and life pods if they could, but that was only a temporary reprieve from death. The smaller vessels might last for a while. They could not maneuver, except on thrusters, but their smaller size meant less area exposed to the grav fluctuations. It was possible they might survive for a few more days—or maybe only a few more seconds.

Helen prayed that it had been quick. That the sail had gone down and the ship had instantly been torn to tiny fragments. No more than a few seconds of terror and then oblivion…

"They're dead. They have to be. Why are we wasting our time looking for a bunch of dead people?"

Helen looked up with a start. Ensign Penelope Harding, the LAC's sensor officer, had made the statement. Helen's people were tired and bored and everyone had been thinking the exact same thing.

But Harding was the first to say it aloud. Helen's own anger and frustration suddenly boiled over before she could stop it.

"Because those are our _orders_, Ms. Harding!" she said, much too loudly. "It's our duty to follow orders whether we like them or not! Or were you asleep the day they taught you that at OCS? We'll keep looking until we're _ordered_ to stop. And maybe if you spent more time looking at your sensors and less time bitching, we could find them and go home!"

Everyone on the tiny bridge of _Black Magic_ was staring at her with wide eyes. She had never raised her voice like that before. Not even the most bone-headed mistake during training had ever made Helen explode like she just had.

And it wasn't even her ship anymore.

Helen was embarrassed, but that only made her more angry. Angry at herself, angry at Harding, angry at the Peeps, angry at a cruel and uncaring universe.

"Y…yes, ma'am," stuttered Harding. She turned back to her control panel. Helen ran her gaze around the compartment and everyone else quickly turned back to their readouts—except for Randy Huber. Huber just continued to stare at her.

"Is there a problem, Mister Huber?"

"I'm not sure, ma'am," he replied slowly.

"Perhaps it's just that your crew have forgotten that they are naval officers! I'll leave you to remind them. If you need me for anything, I'll be in my cabin."

Helen got up from her chair and left the bridge.

[Scene Break]

The rest of the mission was not pleasant. Helen avoided the bridge as much as possible, which left her frustrated. There was not much for her to do in any case, but she still felt like that was where she belonged. Since she was made a group leader, her job had changed significantly. She no longer commanded the HYS-03 squadron directly. That job now fell to Lieutenant Michelle McNierney. _Black Magic_ was no longer part of any squadron. As Helen's command ship, it was assigned wherever necessary. Of course, in a situation like this, with the squadrons parceled out individually, it was just another set of eyes and ears in the search. Helen had no group to command. At the moment, she was not even with her old Hysteria Three Squadron. She tried to shift around from squadron to squadron. Right now they were attached to Hysteria One.

Helen felt bad about yelling at Harding—she had only said what everyone else, including Helen, had been thinking. But there was no way she could apologize for it now. The fact that she might not be on _Black Magic_ much longer made it even worse. As a group commander she rated one of the special command LACs. It had an expanded bridge to give her a dedicated command station, along with room for one assistant and a standard setup for the LAC's skipper. Right now, they had a jury-rigged system to allow Helen to control the group from her position, while Randy Huber commanded the LAC from his tactical station. When they finally got back to a base where they could get some replacements, she would get her command LAC. She had hoped that Randy Huber and the crew would want to come with her to the new ship—maybe now they would not want to.

So Helen sat in her cabin, her computer terminal slaved to the sensor station, and stared at the screen for hours. One time, there was a brief bit of excitement. One of the LACs picked up something on its sensors and changed course to investigate, but it had turned out to be nothing.

She was sleeping less and less. The nightmares were more frequent—and much worse. She used stimulants to stay awake nearly twenty hours out of every twenty-four. She was not supposed to be doing that and the medical people on _Hydra_ were going to chew her out when they ran their damn tests on her after they got back.

And the stimulants were not working very well anymore. She was exhausted and red-eyed now. She was tempted to increase the dosage, but a warning voice told her that she was in danger of self-destructing. But there was no rest in her sleep. She would wake up screaming again and again.

In addition to her worry about Anny and Patric, she was now worrying about herself. She knew she was letting her personal feelings affect her ability to do her duty. That was something she could scarcely accept. She had always done her duty, always…

Except that time on the Peep cruiser.

She had let her hatred of the Peeps get in the way. She had done something foolish simply because of her hatred. She and some of her people—including Anny—had nearly been killed because of her hatred. She had resolved never to let that happen again.

But now it was happening. Not because of her hatred of the enemy, but because of her love for her friends. _I shouldn't have any friends. The hate was better than this! I could control the hate, use it to make me stronger. This is making me weaker. What can I do?_

In truth, she could sense that the hate was growing again. She was trying to put it off and deny it. But that part of her, deep inside, that still burned to avenge her mother's death was now demanding, with a strengthening voice, that she avenge Anny's death, too. Maybe she should just give in. Maybe it would be better to become that hate-driven automaton again.

But she could wait. As long as the search went on, there was hope. She would not give up until the admirals did. After that…she would wait and see.

[Scene Break]

Eventually they met up with their carrier again. After the other squadrons were picked up they headed for the rendezvous with the tankers. None of the other squadrons had found anything either.

It was a little better on _Hydra_. Helen could stay away from people as much as her duty allowed. She started working on her martial arts again. She was chagrined when the marines mopped the deck with her down in the gym. She had been pretty good once, but a year with no practice was showing. She worked out and turned her usual walks around the boat bay gallery into a hard run. She got some pills from the doctors to help her sleep. They did help, and the exercise helped more. She was able to sleep, but it was a rare night that she did not have at least one nightmare.

But Helen was not the only one having problems.

Four days after their pick-up, and two days from the rendezvous with the tankers, Helen was jogging around the boat bay gallery, when she heard the ship's PA system sound an alarm. The ship had numerous different alarms. They were like ancient military bugle calls that could announce things from battle stations to church call to abandon ship. Helen stopped and listened, because this was one she had never heard before. After a moment the alarm was replaced with a human voice:

"All marines report to the Armory! Repeat: all marines report to the Armory! There is a disturbance in the enlisted mess. All personnel report to your duty stations!"

_What?!_

The announcement only applied to _Hydra's_ personnel. Helen had no particular responsibility that she knew of in a situation like this. She hesitated for a moment and then started trotting toward the main enlisted mess hall.

She went down two companionways and then headed aft. She met a number of people scurrying to their stations. When she reached the deck the mess hall was situated on she heard shouts and there was a crowd blocking the passage. Helen was not in uniform; she wore a sweat suit with no insignia. She was tempted to order the crowd in front of her to give way, but some instinct told her not to.

"What's going on?" she asked a rating standing next to her.

"Not sure," he said, barely glancing at her. "Some sort of fight in the mess hall."

"Hell, it sounded more like a riot a few minutes ago!" said another.

Above the murmurs of the crowd she was in, she could hear shouts and other noise from further down the passageway.

"Maybe we should go to our duty stations, like the announcement said," suggested Helen. No one paid her any mind.

"Oh oh! Here come the Jarheads!" shouted somebody towards the front.

"I think I've seen enough! Excuse me, gang!" said another.

The crowd started to disperse and shuffled along the corridor, back the way Helen had just come. She pressed herself against the bulkhead and let them by.

"Better scram, girl," said a passing rating. "Them marines got stun wands and they look ready to us 'em on anyone." Helen let him pass.

After a few moments the crowd had thinned out. There were a few gawkers hanging around, but Helen could get a look down the passageway now.

There were several wide doorways giving entrance to the mess hall. Marines in body armor were crowded around each entrance. Others were heading in her direction, ordering the crowd to disperse. As they drew near, Helen put on her command face and stepped away from the bulkhead.

"I'm Commander Zilwicki, LAC Group One. What's going on here, Corporal?"

The marine stopped and looked down at her in surprise. He brandished his stun wand for a moment, but Helen locked her eyes with his and he hesitated.

"Riot in the mess hall, ma'am. I've got orders to clear this passageway."

"Some of my people may be in there, I want to go check."

"I don't know, ma'am, my sergeant told me to clear all personnel."

"I doubt he was referring to senior officers, Corporal." There were at least a dozen officers senior to her in _Hydra's_ crew but she was fourth in command of the LAC wing, which made her de facto senior to everyone but Captain Romney on the carrier.

The marine continued to hesitate, but finally waved her through. "Bailey! Go with the officer and make sure everyone stays polite!" Helen was glad for the escort. Without her uniform one of those marines might just try out his stun wand without asking who she was.

She walked slowly down to the first door to the mess hall and looked in. She had been expecting to see some mayhem, but she was still shocked. The fighting had ended, but the aftermath made it plain that this had been no ordinary mess hall fight. People were lying everywhere and there was blood to be seen on people and objects. Trays and dishes were scattered about; many of the supposedly unbreakable items were smashed. Even a few of the tables had been torn loose from the deck—and they were supposed to be good for thirty gees of acceleration.

There were still plenty of ratings on their feet, but they had been herded against the far bulkhead by the marines. As Helen watched, she realized that a good many of the people on the deck had been felled by the marines' stun wands rather than fellow crewmen. Still, there were a lot of injuries.

"Have the medics been sent for?" asked Helen to her escort.

"I believe so, ma'am. They should be here any moment."

Helen continued to watch, but her tactical sense told her there was nothing useful she could do here. She turned away.

"Thank you, Private, I've seen enough."

[Scene Break]

Helen looked at the report and shook her head. Eighty-seven people injured, twenty-two of them seriously enough to be unfit for duty. Thirty-four under arrest. _The next Captain's Mast should be interesting!_

Fortunately, none of her people were among the seriously injured or under arrest. Some of them had been involved though.

_And all over something as stupid as that!_

As near as anyone could reconstruct, the whole thing had started when one of the LAC crewmen had made a remark about his commanding officer and referred to her as "skipper". One of _Hydra's_ crew had informed him in no uncertain terms that there was only one "skipper" aboard _HMS Hydra_ and that was Captain Romney—and that he was sick of hearing the LAC jockeys calling their COs "skipper". Words had been exchanged and then blows. It seemed that they were just warming up to the rebuttal when the marines arrived.

Helen berated herself. She had seen this coming. Morale was at an all-time low. First the long mission, then their canceled leave, then this long and apparently pointless search. She did not know what she could have done to prevent the fight, and she was only responsible for a third of the LAC crews anyway, but she still felt like she should have done something.

_I've been spending too much time feeling sorry for myself. It's time I started acting like an officer again…_

Her door buzzer buzzed.

She got up and opened the door. Randy Huber was standing there.

"Hi, Randy," said Helen.

"Can I come in, Skipper?" he asked.

"Sure, and don't call me that. Commander Lowell has issued orders against it, you know that."

"Screw 'im," said Randy testily as he came inside. "You'll always be the skipper, no matter what anyone else says—at least in private."

"Well, in private, I guess I won't complain." They sat down on opposite sides of the small table. "What can I do for you?"

Huber stared down at the deck. "Maybe I should be asking you that, Skipper."

"What do you mean?"

"I…I've been worried about you."

"I'm all right," she answered automatically.

"Are you? I mean really?"

"If you're asking about me chewing out Harding, I'm sorry about that. That was stupid of me. She's your subordinate now, not mine and I had no business dressing her down. I was just tired. Sorry."

"Well, that was one of the main things I wanted to talk about. Penny was pretty shaken up about it. And if that was all there was to it, I'd just chalk it up to you being tired. But I've been watching you—and I'm worried."

"You've been watching me?" Helen was not sure what to make of this.

"It was my job as your exec to watch out for you, Skipper. It's still my job as the commander of your LAC. And it's my job as your friend, Helen. I could tell you were stressed out after the long mission. We were all tired, but it seemed to be weighing on you most. Then on Talbot you perked up, but almost right away you went back into an even deeper funk—we all noticed it Helen. And then this last patrol. You snapping at the crew. You've never done that before. And the stimulants, Helen. Don't forget _my_ background! I could see that you were running on stim tabs and not much else by the end of it. What's going on, Helen? I want to help, but I only can if you let me."

Helen stared at the man. Part of her was touched by his concern. Part of her was appalled that others were noticing her behavior so closely. Her immediate reaction was to brush it off and make some excuses and usher Huber out of here.

But she couldn't do that. Suddenly she had a terrible need to be with someone, to talk to them. To tell them what was happening to her. She had never had that need before, so she had trouble recognizing it for what it was. But she tensed up and sat there quivering, uncertain what to say.

"Helen? Is there something about this search you haven't told me?" asked Huber.

Helen continued to stare at him. She remembered telling Commander Lowell, a long time ago, that Randy was starting to read her mind. Was he? Had she given something away without realizing it? Should she tell him?

After a minute or two of silence Huber got to his feet. "I don't mean to intrude, Skipper. But if you need anything…"

"Randy."

Huber turned back. "Yes, Skipper?"

"I…thank you, Randy. I appreciate your concern, it's just…I…" She stopped and looked down and shook her head.

"Helen, please."

It was building up inside her. It was almost like back in the sick bay after her 'prentice cruise with Aunt Sylvie there. She got up from her seat.

"The…the ship we're searching for. My…my friends, Anny and Patric, are on board."

"Oh Dear God," whispered Huber.

Helen just stood there shaking her head. Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them back.

"Helen, oh God, Helen, I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault."

Helen was looking straight down at the deck. She could sense Huber crossing the short distance between them. She could see his boots and feel his presence a few centimeters away. Slowly, carefully, he moved until her head was touching his shoulder and he lightly put his arms around her. She leaned into him slightly. She didn't cry, but she gave one small sniffle. He stood there and held her.

For a long time.

Then they sat and talked. Helen told him everything. Not just about Anny and Patric and the search. She told him about her mother and her long quest for revenge. She told him about the 'prentice cruise – everything about the 'prentice cruise. She told him things she'd never told anyone else. Not Anny, not Aunt Sylvie, not the Psych people.

Everything.

And Randy Huber listened to every word.

Hours passed and finally she was talked out. She felt drained, but lighter. As if a heavy weight had flowed out of her. She yawned.

"You need some rest, Helen. It's been a long day." Huber started to get to his feet.

Helen looked toward her bunk. She shivered. She needed sleep, but the nightmares were waiting for her. In spite of her long confession to Randy Huber, she knew the nightmares were still waiting for her…

"Randy?"

"Yes, Helen?"

"I don't want to be alone tonight."

**Chapter Thirty-Six**

**B**revet Lieutenant Commander Andreanne Payne, commanding officer of the prize ship _GNS Coeur de Lion_, looked at her computer terminal and tried to pay attention to the report scrolling up the screen.

_Lieutenant VanVeen has made some really good progress on the converter relocation. He's got two of the ruined converters removed and has already started repairing their mounts and circuit runs. The last one should be out in a day or two. The crew is going at it with a will. The idea of doing something positive to get us home early is really inspiring them. In another few weeks he should be able to start moving the good converters aft and…_

"Blast it! Where are they!?" she suddenly said aloud. She slammed her hand down on the desk and then turned away from the screen in frustration.

"It's been five days! We should have heard something!"

There was no one else in her office. She was talking to herself a lot of late. She got up from her chair and paced back and forth as much as the confined space would allow. The fact of the matter was that Anny was worried sick and she could not talk about it to anyone else but herself.

_Two days to get there. At most a couple of days to work out the deal. They should have either contacted us or be on their way back by now! I must have been crazy to let them go!_

It had not seemed like a good idea to Anny even at the time. Now it seemed like incredible stupidity and recklessness. If it had been anyone else, she would still be worried…

But it was not someone else; it was Patric and Chris.

"Tester the Merciful, bring them back to me," she whispered.

She had never felt so alone. The two people she could really talk to, really trust, were off somewhere. Probably in terrible danger. And she had sent them there.

A good friend and the man she loved. Patric had told her of the anguish he had felt when she went off to the enemy cruiser on their 'prentice cruise. Now she knew what it must have been like for him.

_What can I do? If we don't hear something in another day or two, we'll know that something's gone seriously wrong. But then what? I can't just take the ship and go charging after them._

"The Hell I can't! One more day! One more day, Patric McDermott! If I don't hear from you in one more day, I'm coming to get you! I'll tear that place apart if I have to!"

She stood there, breathing hard; fists clenched and jaw set. Visions of the ship looming next to the asteroid base, weapons trained and marines ready, danced in her head.

But then her shoulders slumped and she let out her breath in a long sigh. She would do it. She really would. But it would be the wrong decision – another wrong decision. Again, she would let her feelings force her to make a decision that was wrong for her ship and her crew.

_Maybe Daley was right. Maybe I'm not fit for this command. Maybe…_

Her com terminal beeped.

"Payne here, go ahead."

"Ma'am, we've got a contact! Headed right for us and it's on a course from that base!" The excited voice had not even identified itself, but it was Lieutenant Pickering, sensor officer and lately, an acting watch officer.

"It's the scooter?" asked Anny, her voice just as anxious as Pickering's.

"No, ma'am, it's an impeller driven craft, much bigger."

"How big?" asked Anny in sudden alarm.

"About pinnace size, ma'am. Certainly not a warship."

She breathed a small sigh of relief. "All right, I'll be right there."

She did not run to the bridge—not quite—but she got there in record time. Obviously the word was getting around, because she ran into Philip VanVeen just outside and she saw Terrence Daley hurrying up the corridor.

"Is it them?" asked VanVeen as they went through the hatch.

"I don't know, but it's coming from the right place," Anny answered. Then she faced Lieutenant Pickering. "Status, Lieutenant?"

"A small ship, Skipper. Maybe a thousand tons. Range is forty-eight million kilometers. They are decelerating at one hundred gravities. Their present course will bring them to rest relative to us in approximately two and a half hours at a distance of eight million kilometers."

"That's a little strange," said VanVeen. "Why would they do that? Why not come all the way here?"

"There have been no communications from the ship?" asked Anny.

"No, ma'am, nothing."

Anny stared at the main display. She felt very uneasy about this. The distance the ship was going to stop at was not just a random figure. It was obviously picked to put them comfortably outside missile range and yet not so far as to make the lightspeed delay for communications excessive. So they wanted to talk, but not come all the way in. That made no sense if it was their party—unless they were not alone…

"They have not made any attempt to conceal their presence, ma'am," said Pickering. "Not that they are likely to have much stealth capability."

"This is rather, odd," said Anny, slowly. "Mister VanVeen, I want the ship brought up to Condition Level Two."

"Aye, aye, ma'am. Do you want both reactors on line?"

"I think one will do for the moment, but make sure you charge all the batteries and capacitors."

"Of course, Skipper, right away."

Anny sat down in the command chair vacated by Lieutenant Pickering and watched the activity around her. The ship had been at Condition Level One, the lowest level of readiness. It was better termed a condition of _un_-readiness. Important systems were off-line, others were both off-line and undergoing maintenance, weapons were not ready, crews were not at their posts. The ship was definitely not ready to fight, and at the moment, not even to move.

It was a risky thing to do when there were enemies around, and a ship would generally only do it when in a well defended base or when in the shipyards for repairs. Unfortunately, _Coeur de Lion_ had no choice.

The two fusion reactors that powered the ship were terrible fuel hogs. They could produce the huge amounts of power needed by the impeller drive, sidewalls and weapons, but only by using large amounts of fuel. Even when just "idling" and not actually powering any ship system, they used a lot of fuel. If the reactors had been kept on-line, they would have used the fuel faster than their modest fuel plants could have produced it. As a result, the reactors had been shut down and the ship lived off its batteries and capacitors. There were two huge sets of capacitors that were used to start up the fusion plants, plus many batteries and other capacitors used by the weapons and hyper generator. These were more than adequate to power the ship's other systems. About once a month, one of the reactors was fired up and run for an hour to charge up all of those batteries and capacitors and then it was shut down again. Meanwhile, the fuel plants were powered by solar collectors and the two much smaller, but far more efficient fusion plants on the ship's pinnaces.

But now, Anny wanted the ship to be ready to move or fight. They needed the fusion plants for that. One would be enough in an emergency, so that was all they were starting now, but the second plant could be brought up quickly if it was needed.

Philip VanVeen bustled about and issued orders for nearly fifteen minutes. Anny glanced at what he was doing from time to time, but her attention was focused on that blinking red icon on the sensor display. Who was aboard it? What did they want? Were Patric and Chris and the others there? Finally, VanVeen was ready.

"Reactor One ready, ma'am. Standing by to activate."

"Proceed"

"Aye aye, ma'am, Fusion One activating now."

Deep inside the ship the capacitors fed power to a set of gravity generators. A gravitational field of immense power slowly built up inside the reactor. Fuel was fed into this field. The gravity squeezed and squeezed and squeezed some more. As the fuel was compressed, the temperature rose. Higher and higher. Finally, the temperature and pressure reached the right point and fusion began. A small star burned in _Lionheart's_ heart.

"Fusion One on line and operating normally, ma'am," reported VanVeen from his control station.

"Very well, bring the impellers and sidewall generators up to standby mode. Have the cutter prepped for flight. That's all we need to do for now," said Anny.

"Aye aye, ma'am."

Anny checked the time. It was still over two hours until the contact would come to rest. They might start trying to communicate before then, but probably not by much. Even at eight million klicks, there would be a nearly thirty second time lag for communications. Trying to talk from much farther would be an exercise in frustration.

She got up from her chair. She desperately wanted to know if Patric was on that ship, but there was no way to speed things up. She knew if she stayed on the bridge she would just fidget for the next two hours and make everyone else nervous. It would be better if she went somewhere else.

"I doubt if anything is going to happen for a while. Mister Pickering, you have the bridge. If there is any change, inform me immediately. I'll be in my quarters."

"Yes, ma'am," said Pickering.

[Scene Break]

Two hours later she was back on the bridge. She had taken the time to shower and change into a fresh uniform. She did not know who she was going to be talking to and she might as well look as good as possible. She glanced down at her sleeves. They had the two broad and one narrow gold rings of a lieutenant commander. After the talk she had with Eleanor Reinl, she decided she better look the rank she held, even if it was just a brevet.

"Range is eight million, five hundred thousand kilometers, speed is down to seven hundred kilometers per second. Acceleration steady, they will be at rest relative to us in a little over eleven minutes," reported Pickering.

"Incoming message, ma'am!" exclaimed Ensign Siganuk from the communications station.

_Hah! They couldn't wait either!_

"Put it on the main viewer," said Anny. Her voice was amazingly calm considering the tension that was inside her.

"Yes, ma'am, switching."

And then Patric was on the screen. Anny clutched the arms of her chair and stared at the most precious person in her universe. He seemed unharmed and well and he was smiling slightly.

"Hello, _Lionheart_," he said. "This is Lieutenant McDermott aboard the belter craft _Lothian Dream_. This is a message for Captain Payne." Anny stiffened at the way he had addressed her. They had taken the precaution of setting up a few simple code phrases that could be used in case of trouble. Patric had just called her "captain". That meant that things had not gone as planned and he could not talk freely, but that he was in no immediate danger. If he had called her "commander" it would have meant that everything was as planned. At least he had not called her "skipper", that would have meant he was in danger and being forced to talk against his will. So things were not terribly bad- but they could be better!

"Captain, our party is in good shape, but things have not gone according to plan. We have been contacted by the Scalloway Resistance and they wish to talk to you about securing assistance in their fight against the Peeps. With me is Commodore Perry Leighton and he wishes to speak to you."

Patric stepped back from the camera pickup and another man came into view. He looked quite old in Anny's eyes, but he had a rugged sort of handsomeness. He smiled as he looked at the camera. His gaze was piercing and Anny had to remind herself that this was just a recording and he could not really see her.

"Captain Payne," he said. His voice was strong and deep. "I'm Perry Leighton, Commodore of the military forces of Free Scalloway. As Lieutenant McDermott has said, we wish to secure your assistance in our fight against the Peeps. Since you are already at war with them, it would be natural for us to become allies. I understand you are in need of fuel. If you agree to help us, there will be no problem in supplying you with what you need. I wish to meet with you and discuss these matters face to face. I await your reply."

The message ended and Anny blinked at the empty display. At the moment she was grateful for the lag time in communications. She could take a few moments to think before she recorded an answer. But what to say? Apparently Patric and the others were not prisoners, but what sort of help did this man want? Well, the sooner she had Patric and Chris and the rest back aboard the ship the better. The rest of it could wait.

"Mister Siganuk, prepare to record my reply," she said.

"Yes, ma'am, go ahead."

"Commodore Leighton, I'm Commander Andreanne Payne. You have my thanks for returning my officers to me in so prompt a fashion. As you say, it would be to our mutual advantage to become allies against our common foe. If you would like to proceed in your ship and rendezvous with us, that would be satisfactory. I look forward to speaking with you in person."

"On the chip, ma'am," said Siganuk.

"Very well, transmit."

"Message sent."

Anny waited. It would take thirty seconds for the signal to reach the belter ship. Probably another few minutes for a reply to be recorded and sent. She sat and tapped her fingers lightly on the arm of her chair. It seemed like a very long few minutes.

"Message coming in," announced Siganuk. "Switching to main viewer."

The image of Perry Leighton appeared on the screen again. "Commander Payne," he said, "I very much want to meet with you. However, I do not want to bring my ship any closer than it is now. With your permission, I, and a few of my staff, will take a shuttle and come to your ship. We can then discuss the situation and our future actions. Leighton out."

A chill went through Anny. Did he mean that Patric and the others would not be coming along? She signaled Ensign Siganuk to begin recording.

"Commodore Leighton, you and your staff are most welcome aboard _Coeur de_ _Lion_. I assume you will also be bringing my people along? Please reply. Payne out."

The message went out and after a few minutes the reply came back.

"Commander Payne, for the time being, I would prefer that your people remained aboard my ship. When our discussions reach a satisfactory stage, they can be brought over. I assure you that they are unharmed and are being treated as our guests. Leighton out."

Anny was clutching the arms of her chair. It was what she had been afraid of. She shook her head and then recorded a reply.

"Commodore Leighton, I'm afraid that is not acceptable. I must insist that my people be returned immediately. There cannot be any discussion until that is done. Payne out."

Now Anny was cursing the time lag. What would he say? Would he be reasonable, or was that calm exterior hiding a fanatic? Eventually the reply came. Leighton was still smiling, but there was a slight edge to his voice.

"Commander Payne, I can appreciate your concerns, but I'm afraid your people must remain here as our guests for the time being. After all, Commander, you will have myself and my people aboard your ship to guarantee they are unharmed. I think that is entirely reasonable, don't you? Leighton out,"

Anny sighed and bowed her head. Now what? She could probably run down their ship, but trying to capture it would be very difficult. Patric and the others could easily be killed by such an action. And it would make the belters their enemies. But she could not just give in either. If she did, there is no telling what the belters might force them to do to get their people back. Besides…

"The regulations are very clear in a situation like this, ma'am."

Anny looked up. It was Terrence Daley who had spoken. He had his eyes fixed on her. Most of the other people on the bridge did, too, but it was Daley who had Anny's attention. They stared at each other for a moment, and then Anny nodded.

"You are quite right, Mister Daley, they are. Mister Siganuk, prepare to record."

"Ready, ma'am."

"Commodore Leighton, I'm afraid if you do not return my people, I have to consider them as hostages—no matter what you might like to call them. Under those circumstances, no further discussion can be allowed. When you are ready to release them, we will be ready to talk. Payne out."

She glanced over at Daley. He raised his eyebrows and nodded slightly. Anny turned back to Siganuk.

"Send it."

What was she doing? She could not believe she was actually doing this! Using Patric and the others like chits in some game of chance. Grayson had very strict rules when it came to dealing with terrorists or kidnappers: no negotiations. Either the hostages would be returned or the kidnappers would pay the consequences. It all seemed like a fine policy—as long as it was someone else's friends that were being held! She did not really think the belters would kill the others since that would ruin any chance of getting help from the Alliance, but there were no certainties. Perhaps the next message to come from that ship would show Patric with a gun at his head. Eventually a message did arrive, but it showed only Perry Leighton. He was still smiling, but there was iron in his voice.

"Commander, I think you are blowing things out of proportion here. We are not holding your people as hostages. But they were caught trespassing on one of our bases and you have carried out what could be considered hostile acts against some of our citizens—I'm referring to the crew of the free prospector _Long Shot_, which I could easily consider as hostages on your part. Come now, let's be reasonable. We have much to gain by being friends and much more to lose by being enemies. I await your reply. Leighton out."

Anny sat and thought for a moment. There was some truth in what he said, but there was still only one response.

"Mister Siganuk, please record a voice-only message saying that no further communications will be accepted until our personnel are returned. You can send it when you are ready."

"Yes, ma'am, right away," said a rather surprised Andrew Siganuk.

The message went out. A few minutes later a reply came back. It was more of the same from Leighton, but he was clearly losing patience. Anny had Siganuk send the same message again. This went on for several more exchanges and then there was a long silence.

"Mister Radakovich, use the thrusters to move us away from the comet," commanded Anny. "Mister VanVeen, prepare to bring up the wedge on my command."

"Aye, aye, ma'am," replied both in unison.

"Shall we clear the ship for action, ma'am?" asked VanVeen.

"Not yet, but I want to be ready to move if they try and run for it. How fast would you guess that ship is, Mister Pickering?"

"Hard to say ma'am. I've been monitoring traffic for months now. Most of the impeller driven ships seem to stay under three hundred gravities, but I have no way of knowing if that's their top speed or not."

"Well, we may find out shortly," said Anny.

"Shall I calculate a pursuit vector, Skipper?" asked Lieutenant Brown at the astrogation station.

"Yes, go ahead."

Minutes passed and the ship prepared itself to leap after the belter craft. Anny had no idea what she was going to do to stop the ship, but she had no intention of letting it carry off her people. If they lost contact now, they might never find them again.

"The contact is moving!" exclaimed Pickering suddenly. Anny opened her mouth to order the pursuit, but then the sensor officer added: "They're coming toward us!"

Anny studied the board. It was true! They were headed right for them!

"Incoming message, ma'am!" said Siganuk excitedly.

"Put it on the screen," said Anny. In a moment, Perry Leighton was staring at her again. He was frowning.

"All right, Commander. I'll play it your way—for now. I think your behavior has been highly unreasonable, but in a gesture of good faith, I am bringing your people with us. We will be alongside you in a little over an hour. I trust that will be acceptable. Leighton out."

The man's last two sentences had been just dripping with sarcasm, but Anny could not care less. They were coming here! Patric and Chris and the others would be back on board very shortly. An enormous weight seemed to lift from her shoulders. It appeared that at least one wrong decision she had made was not going to come back to haunt her.

"Well done, Skipper! Way to go!"

Anny looked up to see Philip VanVeen standing front of her chair. He had a huge grin and was holding out his hand. She took it in hers.

"You really stared him down, Skipper! That was great!" added Lieutenant Brown. Every other officer on the bridge joined in to congratulate her. Even Daley smiled and nodded.

"Well, let's get ready to welcome the Commodore," said Anny with a grin.

[Scene Break]

Anny stood in the boat bay and studied the activity around her. Chief McColgin was yelling at his people to get everything shipshape and they were complying as fast as they could. Lieutenant Hickman had his entire marine detachment on hand and they were spiffing themselves up. They did not have dress uniforms, but Anny wanted them here as a show of strength, not military polish. She glanced approvingly at the two hulking forms in powered battle armor. They had not brought any of their power armor with them, and the Peeps had been very efficient at wrecking the electronics of their own suits. But a couple of the marine technicians had been tinkering with the suits down in the Peep 'morgue' for months now and had gotten several of them functional. They did not have all the sensors and weapons on line yet, but they could move and that was all that would be needed here. They had even repainted them in Grayson Marine colors.

"All right! Make way for an old woman! Yes, I was talking to you, sonny!"

Anny turned and smiled. Captain Eleanor Reinl was entering the bay. Anny had sent for her as soon as she was sure Thomas Reinl and Jeremy Carstairs were also aboard the approaching craft. In spite of their efforts, she had found out about the mission to Hamnavoe less than a day after the party had left. She had come storming into Anny's office demanding their immediate return. Anny had been afraid the ancient woman was going to have a stroke. Now, she seemed happier than Anny had ever seen her. The news that she and her ship and her family would soon be free to go probably has not hurt her disposition either.

"Welcome, Captain," said Anny as the woman came up to her. "The shuttle is on final approach now, they will be here soon. And then I imagine you will be eager to be on your way. Again let me apologize for what we have put you through."

"All's well that ends well, as they say," replied the belter. "With the refit you've given _Long Shot_, I suppose the accounts are square now. I won't say I'll be sorry to see the last of you, but you've been a gracious host, Commander."

"Thank you, Captain."

"That's not to say you haven't been a pain in my backside, girl! But it would still please me if we could part as friends."

Anny was so startled that it took her a moment to realize the old woman was standing there with her hand outstretched. Anny was very touched. She took the offered hand and shook it solemnly.

"Perhaps we'll meet again under more pleasant circumstances, Captain."

"That would be good. You know, you remind me a bit of one of my daughters. Headstrong and not to be trifled with—just like her mother—but with a sense of duty and purpose. And a certain grace…" The woman stopped and shook her head sadly.

"Well, enough woolgathering! I wish you luck in this war of yours. And you watch yourself with Perry Leighton! He's a good man and an honest one, but he's obsessed with kicking out the Peeps. His family got hurt nearly as bad as mine in the last uprising and he can't forget that. He'll do almost anything to get help from you and this fine ship. So be careful!"

"Thank you for the warning, Captain. I'll be careful." Anny suddenly wished she had thought to ask Reinl about Leighton earlier. It had not occurred to her that she might know him. Her knowledge could prove very useful in what was to come. But it was too late now. The shuttle from the Commodore's ship was entering the hanger bay and settling into a cradle. It only took a few moments to attach the boarding tube. As the hatch swung open, the side party took its place. The bosun's pipes twittered and the marines came to attention as Commodore Perry Leighton stepped aboard _Coeur de Lion_.

"Permission to come aboard?" asked Leighton to Philip VanVeen.

"Granted, sir. Welcome aboard _Lionheart_. Commander Payne is waiting for you right over here."

Anny walked toward Leighton as VanVeen guided him in her direction. _I suppose I can meet him halfway on this!_

They stopped a few meters apart and looked each other over. Leighton was a big man. She was glad they had not been face to face during the earlier negotiations, he was intimidating enough on a viewscreen!

"Commodore? I'm Andreanne Payne. Welcome aboard _Coeur de Lion_." He was not wearing any sort of uniform, so Anny felt no compulsion to salute. Instead, she held out her hand.

Leighton stared at her for a moment longer and then took it. "Glad to be here, Commander. Good to meet you face to face. I must say, you know how to drive a hard bargain."

"That's because I've been here to put her on to your little tricks, Perry Leighton!" said Eleanor Reinl. "I told her not to give you one centimeter of slack, and she didn't."

"Ellie! Ellie Reinl!" exclaimed Leighton. "Excuse me, Commander, I have to say hello to an old friend." Leighton stepped past Anny and swept Reinl up in a bear hug. "How long has it been you old rock hound?"

"Too long, you scoundrel. And put me down!"

Anny smiled, but then her attention was drawn back to the boarding tube. Other people from the Commodore's party had come aboard but she paid them no mind. The only one she saw was a very tall young man in a set of civilian coveralls. Her heart raced when she saw him and her throat was tight. She walked over to meet him.

Anny and Patric stood a meter apart and stared at each other. After a moment Patric's hand came up in salute. Anny's hand came up, too, but not to salute. She brushed her fingertips lightly on his chest and then let her hand fall. She smiled and looked into his eyes.

"Hi," he said. "I'm back."

**Chapter Thirty-Seven**

"**N**o! That is completely unacceptable!" said Commodore Perry Leighton.

"But Commodore, once we get back to a base, your delegation can present its case to the Alliance," said Anny Payne.

"And then what? They debate and debate and do nothing! Commander, I'm enough of a realist to know that Scalloway is no great shakes compared to a war like you're fighting. The Peeps are only hanging on to it out of habit and pride. It's not like they get much out of the system; they have to expend more resources just to keep us in line than it's worth. Your admirals are going to know that, too. Why should they go to the effort of liberating and then garrisoning this system when it hurts the Peeps more by just letting them have it?"

Anny shook her head. They had been talking for over an hour. Leighton had been eager to begin discussions from the moment he arrived, but Anny had insisted on a delay. She wanted to talk to Patric and Chris and find out exactly what had happened before talking to Leighton. She glanced over to where they were sitting. They were both back in uniform and Patric looked just as he had when they last sat in this conference room. Chris Tropio looked considerably different. Anny had been horrified when she first saw her friend with the terrible bruises on her face. But Chris had brushed it off as an occupational hazard for a hardened adventurer like her. Doctor Lewis had examined her and pronounced the belters' treatment adequate, and here she was, back on duty.

"Commodore, I've heard the story that the Reinl's have had to tell us, and I've heard what you have had to say. I sympathize with your situation, I really do, but my ship is in no condition to go into battle. I have to think of my own crew and my responsibility."

"And I have a responsibility to an entire people, Commander!" said Leighton. He was clearly getting angry and Anny remembered Eleanor Reinl's warning about him. "They selected me to mount the military operations against the Peeps. For years we have built up our strength, but I can be a realist about that, too. Our ships are still toys compared to a real warship. And now you come along with this cruiser. Do you have any idea what it could mean to us to have a ship like this on our side?"

Anny just shook her head. She did not know what to say to this man.

"If you won't help us, Commander, then you won't get one drop of fuel from us! You can stay here and crack your own fuel 'til Hell freezes over for all I care!"

Silence filled the conference room. Leighton glared at Anny, while she avoided his eyes.

"Uh, Commander? Could we at least hear what Commodore Leighton has in mind for how he would like to use our ship? It might give us a better idea of just what the risks are."

Anny looked up in surprise, because it had been Lieutenant Terrence Daley who had asked the question. He was the last one she would have expected to make such a statement.

"Yes, Commander," said Leighton. "Would you at least hear me out?"

Anny looked around the table at her assembled officers. They all seemed willing and interested in what Leighton had to say.

"All right, Commodore, go ahead. What is it that you would like us to do?"

"Thank you," he said a bit testily. "As you know, our first uprising was a disaster. We were badly equipped, badly organized and woefully overconfident. But we learned some things from our mistakes. One thing was that information is a weapon. We were taken by surprise a number of times back then. That is not going to happen again. We have placed literally hundreds of thousands of small sensors on rocks throughout the system. They are fairly crude, but there are enough of them that we can track almost anything in the inner system. You people must have come in pretty far out for us not to have noticed."

Anny nodded. "Yes, about six light hours. Then we drifted in slowly." She wondered just how effective this sensor net really was. It was not just the sensors themselves that were needed, but a method of collecting their readings and analyzing the information. Still, they had ten years to set it up…

Leighton nodded in turn. "That would do it. But over the years we have kept good track of the comings and goings in this system. We know how many ships the Peeps have and where they are located. It's not really that hard, the Peeps are the ones who are overconfident now."

"And just what does the garrison consist of, Commodore?" asked Anny. This would be useful information to have no matter what the outcome of these talks.

"It's not really all that large," replied Leighton. "The mobile forces consist of two destroyers, four frigates and about ten LACs."

"That's all? I would have expected at least one cruiser, and certainly more LACs," said Anny in surprise.

Perry Leighton showed his teeth in a predatory grin. "They did have more LACs, Commander. At one point there were sixty of them. Five are now part of the navy of Free Scalloway; the rest have been destroyed. We showed them how dangerous it was for small groups to try and patrol the belt. Now the survivors huddle close to their bases."

In spite of herself, Anny was impressed. A Peep LAC massed about ten thousand tons. That would make it much larger than the ships the belters seemed to use. And far better armed. Peep LACs may have just been easy targets for a real warship these days, but here in the belt, they would be sharks among minnows. Taking them out must have cost the belters dearly.

"That's very impressive."

"Thank you," said Leighton, still grinning. "But our crowning achievement to date has been against the cruiser that the Peeps used to have here, just as you said, Commander."

"You took out a cruiser?" asked Anny incredulously. "Sounds like you don't need our help if you can do that!"

"Well, it was hardly a fair fight," admitted Leighton. "It went in for maintenance and while it was in the repair slip, we managed to sneak a bomb in there with it. No slip, no ship. I don't suppose we could have done quite so well if it had been able to fight back. And that is why we need you and your ship."

Anny pondered what Leighton had said. Two destroyers and four frigates would be a real handful for an old ship like _Coeur de Lion_. But with the belters knowing where the Peeps were, perhaps an ambush could be set up to reduce the odds. Then another thought struck Anny.

"What about their bases and fixed defenses, Commodore?"

"Well, that's another story. Currently, they are restricted to two of the major asteroids and the planet itself. The asteroids are large—small planetoids really. They have supply and repair facilities on them and fairly impressive armaments. However, due to their size, they can't mount a spherical sidewall generator. Their real defense is the fact that several hundred thousand of our people live and work there. We can't just slip in a big nuke and take them out."

"I see, and around the planet?"

"Well, that's the big problem, and the main reason I am so eager to secure your assistance. There is a major space station in orbit. It was originally part of the terraforming effort, but the Peeps are also using it as a base. They have armed it and it does have a spherical sidewall generator. Its defenses are pretty impressive."

Anny rocked back in her chair and stared at Leighton. He couldn't be serious! This installation did not sound like a real fortress, but it was far tougher than anything her ship could take on. And the belters would probably be no help at all. From what she had seen, it was unlikely they could produce missiles with laser warheads, so they would only have contact nukes. Trying to get a contact nuke through that base's defenses would be totally futile.

"I'm afraid I don't know what we could do against an installation like that, Commodore," said Anny carefully.

"Oh I know you could not take it out, Commander! I'm aware of your ship's capabilities—at least in general terms. No, not your ship and everything we can scrape up would have much chance against that station."

"Then I don't see…" began Anny.

"Patience, Commander! I'm coming to that. If we are going to kick the Peeps out and have any chance of keeping them out, we have to secure those three bases. Not only to deny them to the Peeps, but to get the ship building capacity for ourselves. Those bases between them construct a destroyer and a light cruiser every couple of years. I know that's not much, but it could be the start of a real navy for us. There is no hope to attack those bases externally. The best we could hope for is to destroy them and there's not even much chance of that. Our hope is to take them from inside."

"Go on," said Anny. She did not much like what she was hearing, but at least he did not expect them to make a frontal assault on those bases!

"For the last ten years we have been sniping away at the Peeps, hurting them where we can. But except for a few acts of sabotage—like getting that cruiser—we have confined our activities to the belt and outward. We have done nothing either around the planet or on those other bases. We have made the Peeps believe that the Resistance is a relatively small band of fanatics that stay in the outer system.

"The Peeps don't have all that many personnel here. They are forced to use our people for a lot of the labor and routine maintenance on those bases. We have Resistance people all through their organization now. We've been planning this for years, smuggling in arms and equipment. Getting our people into key positions. Learning the Peep routines. Making plans. The first uprising taught us the virtue of patience, Commander. We have been very patient. But the time to strike is fast approaching!"

"Again, this is all very impressive, Commodore, but I don't see where we fit into this," said Anny.

"The key to all of this, is the base around the planet," said Leighton. "The asteroids, while useful, will be very hard for us to defend once we take them. The Peeps won't have any compunctions about nuking them if they can. But that orbital base: As you noted, it would take a fairly major effort to destroy it. If we can take it and hold it, it would make retaking this system very difficult for the Peeps, unless they committed some major warships. Maybe difficult enough that they won't bother. In any case, if the Peeps hold on to it, they still have a secure grip on Scalloway.

"As I said, we have strike teams already on that base, but we realize that taking control will be difficult. The Peep marines are tough and they do have some power armor. Our people are in a position to disable the station's defenses at least temporarily, but they are going to need help to secure the station—that's where you people come in. The sticking point in our plans has always been the fact that the Peeps keep at least one destroyer and a frigate or two near the station at all times. When our people go into action, those ships will be in a position to lend assistance to the base personnel and interdict any attempts on our part to get reinforcements to the station. We have been building up our strength over the years, but we have to admit even a destroyer and a frigate could give us a real fight in open space.

"But with a heavy cruiser to back us up…," Leighton looked at Anny and smiled.

Anny stared back at him, but she was not smiling. She was thinking. It could possibly work. One destroyer and a couple of frigates would be within _Coeur de Lion's_ capability to fight—especially if the belters could lend any assistance at all. But the risk! It all depended on these resistance fighters to disable the base's defenses. If they failed and her ship got within missile range…

"What if your people can't disable the station's weapons and sidewalls, Commodore?"

"In that case we have a backup plan, Commander." Leighton's smile had vanished and his voice was grim. "We have managed to smuggle the parts for another bomb on board that station. If we can't capture it, we'll blow it to bits."

_Along with all of their own people on board!_ Anny shuddered.

"I see," she said slowly. "So all you want from us is to destroy or drive off the Peep ships around that base. Is that correct?"

"That is the critical job, yes, Commander. Any other assistance you can lend us would also be appreciated. I don't know what your ammunition status is, but if you could spare us some of your missiles, it would be a tremendous help. We don't have the capability of manufacturing laserheads for our missiles and I'm sure you know how ineffective contact nukes are against a modern warship. We do have some pretty good ships in our navy, Commander. With some modern weapons, they could give you substantial help against the Peep warships."

"I see," she said again. "All right, Commodore, I know what you want from us now. You already know what we want from you. This is a very big decision and I'm going to have to confer with my officers before I give you an answer."

"I completely understand, Commander," said Leighton amicably. "I will leave you to do that. My people and I could actually use some rest at this point anyway. Please feel free to contact me at any time if you have any questions." The man paused and stared at Anny intently.

"It is a big decision for you, Commander, but a bigger one for us. An entire people are hoping to regain their freedom. You have the power to give it to them."

The Commodore gathered up his people and left the conference room.

A long silence ensued after the belters were gone. Anny looked from face to face trying to judge what her people were thinking. Most of them looked thoughtful, but eager, too. _Do they think this is some big adventure? So many things could go wrong!_

"Well! That's a bundle of news and no mistake!" said Anny after a few more moments. "People, I've always valued your advice and opinions, but I've never needed them as much as now. As always, it is my decision to make, but please let me know what you think! Is there any merit to this whole scheme? Should we help the belters—and risk our ship and our lives—or should we mind our own business and keep making fuel?"

"Well, Skipper," said Lieutenant Brown, "To a certain extent, fighting the Peeps _is_ our business. If we can help liberate this system, we'd be helping the war effort out of all proportion to our fighting power."

"And if we get ourselves killed," said Philip VanVeen, "not only do we not help these people, but no one will ever know what happened to us. We may as well have just died in that grav wave."

"The belters will know," said Patric.

"If any of them survive," said VanVeen.

"It would be nice if we could help these people," said Chris Tropio. "I only experienced Peep methods for a few minutes—even if they were fake Peeps—and I shudder to think of these people suffering under that kind of yoke for seventy years."

"But if we could get home, we could send back some real help," protested VanVeen. It would only take a few battlecruisers to mop up this whole system."

"Could we?" asked Patric. "Leighton is right that the admirals might not think this place is worth the effort. I don't know about you, but I would feel pretty bad if we left these people to fight on their own."

"Look, I don't want to be the naysayer here," said VanVeen. "I like these people, too. It just seems awfully risky when real help is only a few weeks away if we could get that fuel."

"Yes," said Anny. "There is no denying that there is a tremendous risk. The belters' plan is ambitious—too ambitious. One thing they teach us at the Academy is to keep plans as simple as possible. The more complications, the more chance that something will go wrong. But, we could make the difference for them. They are going to try this sooner or later on their own—with or without our help."

"The plan does not seem too bad from our point of view, Skipper," said Lieutenant Pickering. "Unless the Peeps are on to the whole scheme and are just trying to sucker the belters into a trap, we should be able to tell if that station is operational before we get into missile range. If it is, we can always just cut our losses and run. The real danger is if we get in close and the thing suddenly becomes active."

"Well, our job would be to chase off the Peep ships anyway; we can probably do that without getting real close," said Patric.

"Commander?" said Terrence Daley.

"Yes, Mister Daley?"

"I…I think we should do this. We have been so focused on the task of trying to get home that I think maybe we have lost sight of our duty in a larger sense. The enemy is here, these people need us. I think we should fight. It's the right thing to do, ma'am."

Anny was taken back. She had not been expecting a statement like this from anyone, let alone Daley. Everyone there seemed to share her surprise. Daley had always been so reserved, so emotionless. The intensity of his feelings seemed totally out of place.

_And he's right: We do have a duty beyond just saving our own skins. Could I look myself in the mirror if I run out on these people? But what if I'm wrong? Everyone could be killed. And I'm the only one who can make the decision!_

"Well," said Anny after a few moments of silence. "The majority of you seem to be in favor of helping the belters. We're not taking a vote, but knowing how you feel will help me make my decision. If we assume, for the moment, that I do decide to go ahead with this, what sort of aid could we give them to improve their effectiveness? Could we spare any missiles? Is there any sort of tech transfer we could make that they would be able to use in a short time?"

"Well, as far as our missile supply goes, Commander," said Daley, who in addition to being the tactical officer was also serving as the ship's ordnance officer, "We may actually be able to do something. I've been meaning to tell you about this, but it did not seem all that important until now."

"Tell me what?"

"As you know, the full magazine space for a ship of this class is fifteen hundred, including the broadside and chase magazines. The task group ordnance officer only authorized us a thousand missiles to replace those that the Peeps sabotaged. In the rush to fit out the ship, only a thousand missiles were off-loaded, we still have the other five hundred Peep missiles aboard."

"Really?" said Anny. "I had noticed that the last report had read fifteen hundred, but I assumed that was a typo. Do you think we could repair those Peep missiles?"

"I don't know, ma'am," replied Daley. "We have some spare parts, so maybe we could fix up a few dozen, but as for the rest, I doubt it."

"We could probably get the drives repaired, Skipper," said VanVeen. "That is fairly straight forward. The guidance system would be problematic and we can forget about getting the laserhead working again. It could still function as a plain nuke, but the generators for the gravlenses that create the lasers are just too finicky to be fabricating under these circumstances. In fact, that probably answers your other question, too: We can help out the belters in some ways with software and the like, but upgraded weapons are probably beyond their capabilities. From what I've seen, their technology is about fifty years behind the times—actually not bad considering what they've had to work with. But most of the big advances in weapons technology: better lasers, grasers, improved sidewalls and the laserhead missile have all depended on really sophisticated grav technology. That sort of stuff just can't be tinkered together in a small shop, even if you have all the plans and specs. The belters don't even have the infrastructure to support that sort of industry. They could certainly get it going given time, but I'm assuming that the Commodore wants to carry out his plan in the next couple months."

"Yes, I would think so," said Anny. "In any case, if he has not gone ahead by the time we have cracked a full load of fuel, we'll be out of here no matter what I decide now. So, it sounds like we could spare them a few fully capable missiles—perhaps to arm those LACs they've captured. We could just let them have the rest of the Peep missiles and if they can work out something to get them functional, great, if not, we have not lost anything. As far as the other things, like software, we will have to do some investigation and see what is possible. At the least, we can hope for some level of improvement in their capabilities."

"Commander?" It was Daley again. Anny was still slightly amazed at how involved he seemed to be getting with this.

"Yes, Mister Daley?"

"There is one other thing that is not so good. I have been looking into the regulations and as things stand right now, we cannot legally give the belters any material aid at all. Even a combined operation such as the Commodore has proposed is in violation of the letter of the regs."

"I thought you were in favor of this," said Anny in surprise.

"I am, ma'am, but it is absolutely against regulations for us to do so. It may even be in violation of the Deneb Accords and even the Eridani Edict."

Anny shook her head. What was he talking about? Why had he even been in favor of this whole thing if he knew they could not do it legally?

"I'm afraid I don't understand…"

"I'll explain, ma'am, but first let me add that I believe there is a way around it."

"Really? What?"

"Well, it's something that I don't think Commodore Leighton is going to like." Daley paused and looked at Anny with a strange grin.

"Frankly, ma'am, I don't think you are going to like it, either."

**Chapter Thirty-Eight**

"**C**ommander, you can't be serious!" exclaimed Commodore Perry Leighton. "It's absolutely out of the question!"

"Commodore, please let me explain…," began Anny.

"Explain! What's to explain? You just call me in here and tell me that you want to assume command of the entire Free Scalloway Navy! What could be simpler? Either you are out of your mind, Commander, or you must think I am!"

"Commodore, please calm down," pleaded Anny. She had expected him to be upset—she was far from happy with the situation herself—but she had not expected him to explode like this!

"Commodore, perhaps you should let the Commander explain herself," said the woman seated to Leighton's right. This was Moira Russell who was one of Leighton's advisors. She had said little so far, but seemed to have a level head. Anny was grateful for her intercession. Leighton frowned at her but subsided.

"All right, explain—if you can."

Anny took a deep breath and launched into it.

"Commodore, I am not suggesting that I would take direct command of your forces or supersede you in any way. This would be strictly for form's sake to satisfy our laws and regulations. At the moment, your government is unrecognized—unknown actually—by any government in the Alliance. I don't mean to be insulting, but you have no standing at all within the galactic community. The Peeps simply consider you a bunch of rebels and terrorists and would certainly present you as such in any hearing on the matter."

"So what?" interrupted Leighton. "What do we care about the rest of the galaxy? They've never taken any interest in us before, why should I give a damn about them now?"

"Well, you don't have to care about them, but my government, and my superiors do. And therefore, so do I. There are many interstellar conventions and agreements in effect and we have to be mindful of them in carrying on our war. One of those agreements forbids supplying terrorist groups with weapons. It particularly forbids supplying weapons of mass destruction –like the warheads on those missiles you would like to have."

"That's ridiculous," said Leighton. "We can already make our own nukes and our own missiles. And we are not terrorists! We are the rightful government and armed forces of Scalloway!"

"I know that, sir," said Anny. "But the Peeps are sure to present it in the worst possible light. If we supply you with weapons and you use them, it could result in serious trouble for my government. Of considerable importance to me personally is the fact that I could be facing a hangman's noose if I were to give you those weapons. Even the simple act of undertaking a joint military operation with you could land me in some very hot water."

"So you are going to back out of this? Run away and hide behind a bunch of stupid laws and irrelevant regulations? I can't believe this! That's the coward's way out, Commander!"

"Commodore!" said Russell sharply. "There's no call for being insulting! The Commander has not said she wants to run away,. Will you please let her explain what she has in mind?"

"Hmmph!" snorted Leighton. "Go ahead. I'll reserve my judgment—and any apology."

"Thank you, sir," said Anny.

"As I was trying to explain, the problem is that you have no legal standing at the moment. But there is something we can do about it, if you agree. The regulations we are under have a few loopholes. One of them grants some fairly broad powers to the 'Senior Officer on Station', the 'SOS'. Now Scalloway is not an official 'station', but the regulations allow for that, too. In the case that higher authority cannot be contacted, but circumstances call for a ship or ships to remain in a certain star system for an extended period of time, it becomes a temporary 'station'. That time limit happens to be six standard months, which will have elapsed in just a few more weeks. As the commander of the sole Alliance vessel in the Scalloway system, I become the _de facto_ SOS."

"Good for you. So what?" asked Leighton, testily.

"It is an important point, sir. As the SOS, I have the power to deal with the local government. Since I obviously can't deal with the Peeps, I have no choice but to deal with your government—in effect recognizing them as the legitimate government of this solar system. Once that step has been taken, it is within my power to render assistance to you in defense against an invader, that is to say, the Peeps."

"Aha," said Leighton and his frown twisted into a half-grin. "I start to see. But the 'invasion' happened seventy years ago."

"Not relevant as far as the regulation go, sir," said Anny. "You represent a friendly government asking for assistance against a foreign invader and I am empowered to give you that assistance."

"All right, I can understand all of that—for what it's worth. If it will save your neck with your superiors, I can't object, even though it's just a bunch of bureaucratic nonsense as far as I'm concerned. But what's this business about you taking command here?"

"Well, that is the other problem. In the case of a joint military operation where no definite chain of command has been agreed to by our respective governments, the regulations insist that an Alliance officer must be in command."

"Poppycock! My people won't follow you!"

"I'm not asking them to, sir! You would still be in full command of your forces. But for the record, you would have to agree to be my subordinate and follow my orders. Strictly for the record, sir! We would still be following your plan and my ship would carry out the role you want for it. I know it sounds like a lot of nonsense, sir, but it is the only way I can do this without risking my career."

Leighton continued to frown but Anny could tell he was thinking. Part of her hoped he would reject what she was proposing because she felt that much of it _was_ a lot of nonsense just as he said. The regulations Daley had pulled out of the books were very thin justification for what they were trying to do.

She was rather surprised to find those regulation at all until she called up her Royal Navy regulations book and did some comparisons. The Grayson Navy had often taken its lead from the Royal Navy. They were not afraid to innovate, but they had no problem with adopting some things wholesale if they thought they made sense. Apparently that was what they had done with the parts of the regulations dealing with foreign powers and foreign stations. Grayson had never had many dealings outside its own system before the alliance with Manticore and had no need for such regulations. Once the war started, they did have need for them and so they just copied the Royal Navy regulations. The Royal Navy had centuries of dealing with foreign powers and local disputes in that unsettled region known as Silesia. Over the years, The RN had dealt with all manner of crises that had to be handled without guidance from home. Everything from fighting pirates to hiring privateers to recognizing revolutionary governments on the spot had to be included in the Regs.

Including the situation Anny and her crew found themselves in now.

It was definitely stretching things a bit to consider Scalloway a 'station' and Anny the SOS, but hopefully they could get away with it- assuming Leighton agreed. Part of Anny wished he would not so she could just wash her hands of the whole thing with a nearly clear conscience.

"So this would simply be a sham," said Leighton at last. "You would not try to issue orders to my people or subvert my authority?"

"Hardly a sham, sir," said Anny. "It would be an official arrangement recognized by your government until future negotiations could hammer out a better arrangement. But no, I would not try and issue orders to your people. I might have a few 'suggestions', but I would pass all of those through you first."

"Commander Payne is a graduate of the Royal Manticoran Naval Academy, Commodore," said another one of Leighton's advisers, a man named Sean Magarrigle. Anny had gotten some garbled story about him beating up Chris, but she had not had time to get the facts about that. "I understand that is one of the premier institutions of its kind in the galaxy. We should be grateful for any advice she can give us, sir."

"Hmmm, well I suppose I can agree to this if it is so damn important to you," said Leighton. "Just so there is no doubt that I am in command here."

"It's pretty damn important to us, too, Commodore, if it gets us their help!" said Moira Russell. "It would be a sorry thing if we failed in this just to satisfy your ego."

"You're out of line there, Moira!" Leighton was angry, but also clearly surprised that his advisor would say a thing like that.

"Maybe I am as your military aide," replied Russell. "But don't forget I'm also a member of the Clan Council that appointed you to this post in the first place. I don't think they would be happy to learn that you were jeopardizing the cause like this!"

"Moira, this is not the place to be discussing this," said Leighton.

"No, you are right, it isn't. So let's get on with it. Commander Payne's proposal is completely reasonable and there is no point in quibbling over details."

Leighton glowered for a few moments but then he looked back at Anny.

"Is there anything else you want before we agree to this?"

"As a matter of fact, there is," said Anny. "Before my ship goes into action, I'm going to require that fuel. I will not fight a battle with half empty fuel tanks."

"Absolutely not!" exploded Leighton. "If we give you that fuel you could just hyper out and leave us in the lurch! No, Commander, not one drop until the Peeps are gone!"

"Commodore, we could hyper out right now!" said Anny harshly. She was trying to hold her temper, but he was not making it easy. "We could just disassemble our fuel plants and go somewhere else—and frankly, I'm getting sorely tempted! I will not compromise on this point, Commodore; it affects the safety of my ship. You are just going to have to trust us, sir!"

"Yes, Perry," said Russell. "We _do_ have to trust them. We are asking them to trust us. All the information you gave them on the Peeps and their forces and our battle plans they are accepting on trust. If we are lying to them about what they are going to be facing they could be in serious trouble—but they are trusting us. If this alliance of forces is going to work we have got to show them some trust, too. Now stop this nonsense."

Anny was slightly appalled by the lack of military decorum being shown by the belters, but she was glad for Russell's endorsement. Leighton's face had turned a bright red, but he was holding himself in check.

"Oh, very well!" he sputtered at last. "But not until the eve of battle! You won't need it before then."

"Very good, sir," said Anny. "I believe you have answered all of my outstanding points. Thank you very much."

"We have a deal then?" asked Leighton.

"No, sir," said Anny "We have a proposal- I have not made up my mind yet."

"What!?"

"I'm sorry, sir. I needed to get these points cleared up before I could make my decision. Now that they have been settled, I will be able decide—but I will require a bit more time. As we have already noted, this is a major decision for both of us. I will have an answer for you tomorrow."

"Oh for Heaven's sake!" spat Leighton.

"Perry, we've been waiting for this for ten years," said Russell. "What difference is another day going to make?"

"All right! All right! I know enough not to fight against two to one odds! I can wait until tomorrow! If there are no other surprises in store for me I'll be grateful. In the meantime, I will go back to my quarters. Good day, Commander!"

Leighton got up and stalked out of the conference room. His staff followed, but Moira Russell lingered behind.

"Don't mind him, Commander," she said. "He'll come around."

"I hope so, Ms. Russell," said Anny. "I don't think he's too happy with me right now."

"This whole thing means a tremendous lot to him. But when things actually start to get rolling, he'll be enthusiastic enough, I can promise that."

"I hope so," said Anny again.

"Well, I'll see you tomorrow, Commander—or maybe I should call you: 'Admiral'?" said Russell with a grin.

"Please don't," said Anny, rolling her eyes.

[Scene Break]

Anny Payne stared through the armorplast of the viewport at the endless blackness that surrounded her. Stars shone faintly, their light somewhat overpowered by the glare from the huge iceball where their fuel plants were located. She glanced at the prospecting ship _Long Shot_. It did not look much different from the outside, but she knew it was now full of happy belters. Free to go and marveling over their new upgrades. Anny was slightly surprised that Eleanor Reinl had not left yet. Her eyes wandered back to an empty patch of space and she stared at nothing.

_What am I going to do?_

She had been asking herself that question for hours. She had been asking it from the moment that Perry Leighton had told her what he wanted from them. But now, there were no more distractions and she had to face the question—and try to find an answer. She was standing in the captain's cabin. She knew she would not be disturbed here, and there was more room to pace. Michael Brock had lived in here for a few days, but he had not made any real changes from when it had belonged to the Peep Captain Kellerman. Some of her personal effects were still scattered about. Anny turned and glanced down at a small framed holo sitting on a table. It showed a man and two smiling children. The captain's family perhaps? Anny shook her head and resumed looking out the viewport.

_Navy people should be all orphans and never allowed to have a friend or a lover. I don't know how they do it. Why didn't they warn us about this at the Academy?_

She thought back over some of her courses on command and leadership. She realized that her instructors had hinted about it; had beaten about the bush, but none of them had really warned her about the awful burden of command. Oh, they talked about it until it almost became a tired cliché, but they never got the truth through to their students.

_Maybe there is no way to explain it. You just have to experience it—and then it's too late. What am I going to do?_

It was really a simple set of choices: Fight or Run. Either she committed her ship to help the Belters fight the Peeps, or she sat here until they had enough fuel to run away. Neither alternative was particularly appealing. She had always thought that naval service was just a matter of doing your duty as best you could. She had always expected that her duty would be clear.

But it was not.

It was her duty to fight the Peeps. To hurt them when and where she could. She had another duty to help the enemies of the Peeps. And a much more basic duty to help people in need. But she also had a duty to her ship and her crew. To protect them and get them home.

And she had a duty to her friends and the man she loved.

If she fought, she would satisfy one set of duties but only by putting the other set at risk. If she ran, it was just the opposite. The only way she could satisfy both was by fighting—and winning -and not paying too high a price for her victory. But there was no guarantee of victory—or even survival. There were so many things that could go wrong.

Anny turned away from the viewport and started pacing. Ten strides one way, turn, and ten strides back. She clasped her hands behind her and paced.

She desperately wanted someone to give her some advice. But there was no one she could talk to. To approach any of the other officers with her doubts would be a terrible breach of discipline and protocol and it would undermine morale and her peoples' confidence in her—that much was clear from her Academy courses. She could talk to Patric and Chris without as much difficulty, but it would not really do any good. They wanted to help the Belters and they would just do their best to reassure her without really addressing her fears.

Fear.

It all came down to that, really. She was afraid. Not so much for her own safety—although she was honest enough to acknowledge that was a factor, too—but for her ship and her crew and the people she cared about.

_If I make a mistake my ship and my crew could die. Patric and Chris could die_.

It was a numbing feeling. Even if everything the Belters said was true, even if their plan went perfectly, she could still make some mistake while fighting her ship that would get them all killed. She had never commanded a ship in battle before and the thought of making that fatal mistake was terrifying.

They had learned about that in class, too. How the prospect of losing a ship and a crew could paralyze an officer. How men and women who were solid, competent officers in peacetime, or as subordinates, fell apart when first thrown into battle on their own. Not because they were cowards or fools, but because their own fear of failing overpowered their judgment. Their fear of failing _made_ them fail. It had happened to others, could it happen to her, too?

There was no one to answer that question. No one at all she could talk to about it. Commander Brock was in cold sleep down in Sick Bay. Captain Christopher was light years away. Helen was God knew where.

_What would Lady Harrington do?_

That was a question she had asked herself countless times throughout her career. She had always looked to Harrington to set the example. But now, she could draw no comfort from her idol. She knew what Harrington would do…

_She would fight. She would fight brilliantly and win the day. But I'm no Harrington!_

And even Harrington had to pay a price for her victories. Some of her most famous successes had left most of her crew dead or wounded and her ship a wreck. The battle that had endeared her to Grayson had been like that. Others had been, too.

_Was she afraid? Afraid the way I am now?_

It was almost a blasphemous question for her to ask, but in her heart Anny knew that her idol must have been afraid. Afraid just the way Anny was now: a little afraid for herself, terribly afraid for her ship and her crew.

_But she mastered her fears and did what had to be done. Can I?_

Anny stopped her pacing and returned to the viewport.

_I wish I could talk to her. I wish I could talk to someone. Ha! I might as well wish for a squadron of superdreadnoughts to help me out while I'm at it! Sweet Tester what am I going to do?_

She stared for several minutes, letting her mind wander. Slowly a thought began to take shape, and she realized that there _was_ someone she could talk to. Someone she should have thought of first.

After a few more moments, she turned away from the viewport and walked out of the cabin.

The corridors and companionways of _Coeur de Lion_ were quiet and nearly deserted. This was fine with Anny; she did not really want to see anyone else just at the moment. She walked aft and down several decks and the only sound was the echo of her own footsteps. Eventually she came to a hatch. She hesitated a moment and then pressed the entry button. The hatch slid open; she stepped through, and closed it behind her.

Inside it was dim. A soft light came from the ceiling. There was soothing music faintly to be heard in her ears. A pleasant odor touched her nostrils. A sense of peace filled her.

She was in the ship's chapel.

It was not a large space. Father O'Neil conducted services for the ship's company in one of the mess halls, but he had fitted out an unused compartment as a chapel. It was for private meditation and prayer. Anny attended the services as a matter of duty, but only once before had she come to the chapel.

O'Neil had enlisted the aid of some of the ship's more talented craftsmen and had wrought quite a transformation. It really did look like a chapel. There was a small altar at one end on which two candles burned. Rows of benches simulated pews and he had somehow converted one of the clothing fabricators to turn out some very nice tapestries to hang on the bulkheads. Except for the lack of windows, it might have been a small steading church back on Grayson.

There was no one inside at the moment. Anny walked down the center aisle to near the front and then knelt down between two of the benches. She folded her hands together on the back of the bench in front of her and rested her head on her hands.

Then she prayed.

"Almighty God, I am in need," she whispered. "Lend me the strength and wisdom to meet this test you have sent me. So many are depending on me to do the right thing and I am afraid."

Her words were a variation on the ancient "Testing Prayer" that she learned as a small child. As she spoke them now, she felt their meaning as never before. God certainly was testing her, just as her people always believed He would. She was not sure what answer she expected, but as she continued to whisper she knew that this test was not one in tactics and strategy, but one of spirit and will.

She knelt there for some time but then she heard a small noise behind her and jerked around. Father O'Neil was standing there in the open hatchway and from the look on his face, he was just as surprised to see her there as she was to see him.

"Oh! Father O'Neil," said Anny. "You startled me."

"I'm sorry, Commander," he answered. "I didn't realize anyone was in here. Not many people come here, you know. But if I'm disturbing you, I can come back later."

"No," said Anny, "you don't have to go. I…I was just seeking some comfort…and guidance."

"Then you have come to the right place," smiled the Chaplain. "God has comfort and guidance for all who seek it in Him." O'Neil paused for a moment and looked at Anny closely. "But you have a heavy burden, daughter. I don't envy you. Do you wish to talk about it? Or would you rather I leave you to seek God's help?"

Anny hesitated. Of all the people on this ship, the chaplain was perhaps the one person she _could_ talk to. That was what he was here for, after all.

"I would be grateful if you would stay a while, Father."

"Certainly, Commander." He walked over to a nearby bench and sat down. Anny got up from her knees and sat as well. A lengthy silence ensued. Anny did not know what to say. O'Neil sat there, expectantly, as if he was used to people not knowing how to begin.

"I have a hard decision to make, Father," she said at last. "Many people could die because of what I do or don't do."

"All of us face decisions and tests every day, but few have the responsibility of the captain of a warship," nodded O'Neil. "And few even of them have ever faced a decision such as you face, Commander."

"I want to help these people, Father, but do I have any right to ask my crew to take these risks for a group of strangers?"

"God tells us to help those in need, daughter. The strong should help the weak. The powerful should shield the helpless. And He tells this to all, not just the leaders. Your crew knows this, too, Commander. They know that helping the Belters is the right thing to do."

"Then you think I should do this?" asked Anny.

"I can't say yes or no to you. I'm not a tactician and I cannot weigh the likelihood of success as you can. I can't recall hearing of God giving tactical advice either, come to think of it. But He can give you the strength to do what must be done if you open your heart to Him."

Anny sighed and shook her head. "There are so many questions I can't answer. I don't even know if the crew will follow me if I decide to fight."

"That is one worry I believe you can put aside," said O'Neil. "The men think very highly of you, Commander."

"They do so far," answered Anny. "They think I'm a good pilot and they have obeyed my orders. But sometimes it almost seems like they think of me as some sort of mascot or good luck charm rather than their commander. Will they follow me into battle? Will they have confidence in me or will they begin to doubt because…because…"

"Because you are a woman?"

Anny nodded her head. It was something that had been nagging at her ever since Daley challenged her. She had learned to lead, but before there had always been someone else, higher up the chain of command, to back her up. Now she was on her own.

O'Neil looked down at the deck for a few seconds before responding.

"There will always be those who doubt. I must admit that I did so myself for a long time. I felt that God had told us that women had no place in what, for us, had always been a man's world. Not just that they had no place in battle, but that they should not be exposed to the roughness and vices of men.

"But times change. And perhaps God now has new plans for us. He caused Lady Harrington to come to us and show what a woman could do. Perhaps He uses you now to show us that Grayson's women can do so as well."

Anny blushed hotly and turned her eyes away.

"I don't mean to embarrass you, Commander," said O'Neil, who had obviously noticed Anny's reaction. "But I have watched you. And I confess I looked expecting to find you tainted by men's vices. I expected the years you spent away from Grayson to have…diminished you. But I was wrong. Young McDermott is a fine man and you are a fine woman and a fine officer. I am proud to serve with you. I…I think you are doing God's will here."

"Thank you, Father," whispered Anny.

The Chaplain got up from the bench and walked over to Anny. He laid his hands lightly on her head.

"God's blessings be upon you, daughter. May His strength be your strength. May His wisdom guide you. Trust in Him and your faith will see you through this test."

Anny's thoughts were swirling. She had never much liked the idea of something being "God's will" or "In God's hands". She believed that people had free will and controlled their own fate. But she had to admit that she had not had much control over her current predicament. From the moment that _Long Shot_ had appeared on the sensors, everything had seemed to happen of its own accord and Anny could only react.

Perhaps it was not "God's will" but her options had dwindled to nothing. She would fight. She knew that now and the knowledge brought a measure of peace to her. She had made her decision and right or wrong, she would carry through with it—to the bitter end if need be. She realized that she had been "fighting her destiny" as her sister Abigail liked to say.

No, it was not "God's will", but it _was_ a matter of faith. Faith in doing her duty. Faith in doing what she knew was right. Faith in her ship and her crew. And most of all, faith in herself. She had been trying to deny that faith, make excuses for doing something other than what she knew in her heart she had to do.

But she would deny that faith and fight her destiny no longer.

Father O'Neil removed his hands and Anny looked up at him.

"God go with you, Andreanne Payne."

Anny got to her feet and nodded at him. Then without another word, she left the chapel and headed toward Commodore Leighton's quarters.

**Chapter Thirty-Nine**

"**I** think that just about covers everything for now," said Commodore Perry Leighton. "Do you have anything else, Commander?"

"No, sir," said Anny Payne.

"Very well! Our operations are scheduled to commence three weeks from tomorrow. We still have a lot of work to do before then. Let's make every minute count, People!"

There was a murmuring of agreement from around the conference table and people began getting to their feet. It had been a long meeting and Anny was glad to be able to get up and stretch. Most of the people, Belters and her own officers, headed for the exit, but Anny walked over to the window and looked out. Patric had described the conference room on the Hamnavoe base and she guessed that this one must be very similar. It looked out on the central core of another asteroid called Dounby. It was much larger than Hamnavoe and the hollowed-out central park area was correspondingly proportioned. From its position, high up on the rock wall, the window showed an actual forest of living trees. These gave way, here and there, to open glades. A kilometer or so away, Anny could see what looked like a pond or small lake.

A sudden motion caught her eye and she saw a large bird disappear beyond the edge of the window frame. Anny supposed there must be a nest in the cliff face nearby. As a native of Grayson, Anny could appreciate what the Belters had accomplished here in setting up an artificial environment sealed off from a hostile surrounding. Looking at the lovely view, she wondered if her people might have done better by digging down rather than building domes. Of course they would have to seal off the rock walls and all those toxic metals very carefully…

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"

Anny turned and saw Moira Russell standing next to her.

"Yes, it is. After months and months aboard a ship, it is a sight for sore eyes."

"Still, it is only a fake," said Russell. "We hoped to create a whole world like this someday. But until we can kick the Peeps out, it will remain only a dream. And if we don't do it soon, it may become an impossible dream. The terraforming effort is backsliding from what we have heard. The Peeps are not interested in expending the resources. The average temperature on the planet has fallen a whole degree in just the last five T-years. If something isn't done soon, all our efforts will be lost."

Anny glanced at Leighton, who was talking with a few people near the exit.

"If everything goes according to plan, you may get your chance before too long," said Anny.

"'If everything goes according to plan,'" Russell shook her head. "I'm not a trained officer like you, Commander, but even I know that in war nothing ever goes according to plan. We'll make our plans and as soon as we make our first move and the Peeps respond it will all go right out the airlock."

"Probably," nodded Anny. "That's why I've been arguing for more contingency and back-up plans."

"And to simplify, yes, I know," said Russell. "I'm sorry that the Commodore is not being more cooperative."

"Actually, he is being more cooperative than I expected," replied Anny. "He has taken a number of our suggestions."

"On the details and technical matters, yes, but he won't make any real changes to the plan. He's been working on it for years and he can't bear to see anyone try and change it. That damn stiff neck of his again."

"He is…determined," answered Anny diplomatically. "But it is not a bad plan, really. Just a bit overly ambitious considering the forces at our disposal."

"Too ambitious, do you think?"

"Perhaps. If we get lucky and everything goes right, you could seize both asteroids and the orbital base and kill several of the defending warships. The remaining Peeps would probably have to flee the system at that point since they would have no secure base. They might well come back in strength, but at least you would have several months to consolidate. And perhaps we could bring back some help.

"Unfortunately, if any one of the bases remain in Peep hands, that will create a rallying point for the Peep forces and it could be very hard to drive them out."

"Yes," agreed Russell. "The coordination issue is critical. By the way, that was a brilliant idea you had for using the LACs. We could bag a few of their ships if we can pull that off."

"Actually, it was my tactical officer's idea. Hopefully it will work, but we have to realize that _Coeur de Lion_ and those LACs are the only real warships we have—and they can only be in so many places at once. Even if we are successful at the orbital base, if something goes wrong at one of the asteroids, we will be a long way off to give any help."

Russell smiled suddenly. "I've talked with a number of your officers, and they all call your ship 'Lionheart'. But I've noticed that you always insist on calling it by its real name. Why is that?"

Anny just shrugged. "Bad luck to rename a ship."

"Oh come now! We Belters are pretty superstitious about things like that, but I can't believe professionals like you are! Besides, if that were the case, all your people would feel that way."

Anny shook her head. "Actually, we are a bit superstitious. But I guess the real reason is that I was the one that accepted the surrender of the ship from the Peep captain. I'll never forget the pain in her eyes as she turned over her ship to me. I guess I use the real name as a sort of show of respect for a defeated foe or something. It doesn't really make much sense."

Now it was Moira Russell's turn to shake her head. "Respect for your enemy. We've never been able to afford that sort of thing around here. They certainly show no respect for us."

"I suppose not. Damn, I hate this war! The more I see of it, the more I hate it." Anny stopped herself. She was a little embarrassed to have blurted out something like that in front of someone, but Russell did not seem to see anything strange in it.

"Well, from what you tell us of how the Peeps are getting pushed back around Haven, it sounds like it might not last too much longer. That's another reason we want to kick the Peeps out of here soon: If the Peeps should sue for peace, we damn well want to be on the right side of any new boundaries the diplomats may draw on the map." She checked her chrono and then looked back at Anny. "I suppose you need to get back to your ship. I know a slightly roundabout route through the forest that will get you to the docking bay. If you like, you could stretch your legs a bit before you get back to work."

"Thank you, Moira, I'd like that very much."

Anny followed the other woman out the exit, and then down a lift to the main level of the base. In the corridors and even in the lift, she found herself noticing the hand crafted one-of-a-kind quality of the Belter artifacts. Nothing seemed like it was mass-produced. She supposed that some items like the fasteners and such must have been, but they were used in a fashion that each lift car or wall section almost seemed like an individual work of art.

It reminded her a good bit of Grayson.

_I guess there are similar factors at work. A finite and restricted amount of living space. Nothing can just be thrown away. No room for idle hands, everyone has to be doing something useful. Lots of effort gets put into common items to make what they have special—I like it._

They emerged through an open set of pressure doors and walked out into the forest. Anny was not sure what sort of trees they were. They seemed to be mostly of some coniferous or evergreen variety, but unlike any she was familiar with. Almost immediately the sense of being on an asteroid was lost. She might have been in a forest on any Terrestrial planet.

There were a number of people strolling the paths and most of them stopped and stared at Anny as she passed. For once she was glad of the blue Grayson uniform. The vast majority of space navies had black uniforms – including the Peeps. She doubted that anyone would mistake her for a Peep, even if her uniform had been black, but somehow it made her feel better.

"You Graysons are pretty popular these days," said Moira, as if reading her mind.

"I just hope we're still popular three weeks from now," replied Anny. "I don't think any of these people realize the risk you are all taking. Even if we win, there could be a terrible price to pay."

"We've already paid the price, Commander. Ten years ago we paid in blood. Now we're eager to collect what we paid for."

Anny nodded. "We'll do our best to help you collect."

"I know you will. Don't think for a moment that we don't appreciate it."

The two women walked in silence. Anny tried to shake off her nagging worries for a few minutes and just enjoy the forest. It really was a convincing illusion. Birds flitted between the trees and faint woodland sounds could be heard. Small tree dwelling creatures scurried up trunks and along branches. The Belters must have applied their terraforming techniques to create such a balanced ecosystem. Thinking about it she realized that they must have brought a multitude of plants and animals when they first came to Scalloway. Rather than just leave them in cold sleep, they were making use of them in these micro-environments. And none of the plants or animals had a clue they were kilometers deep on an asteroid hundreds of light years from where their species rightfully belonged.

Suddenly Moira Russell stopped. Anny did likewise and looked back at her. She was smiling and made a gesture with her head indicating Anny should look at something. She turned and followed her gaze and saw that she was not the only one in a blue Grayson uniform in the forest today. Chris Tropio was just visible about fifty meters away through the trees. But she wasn't alone. She was with Sean Magarrigle. Anny had gotten the full story about Sean's masquerade as a Peep SS captain and how he had roughed up Chris and the others. Patric had mentioned that Sean had gone out of his way to make amends and that Chris seemed to be responding.

She was certainly responding now. The pair had their arms around each other and were locked in a kiss that probably would have rendered them oblivious to Anny's presence if she had only been five meters away instead of fifty.

"I guess some Graysons are even more popular than others," said Moira quietly.

"Apparently so," said Anny who was not quite sure how she felt about this. "I may have to issue some non-fraternization orders if this goes on."

Russell looked at her sharply but then seemed to decide that Anny was joking. Anny was not sure if she was or not.

Moira started walking again and Anny followed. She glanced back several times before her friend was lost to view.

_On the other hand, maybe I should bring Patric out here sometime…_

[Scene Break]

A short time later Anny boarded her shuttle for the trip back to the ship. As she took her seat, something jabbed her in the hip. Scowling, she pulled the holster on her belt to a more comfortable position. She did not like carrying a pulser, but that was Daley's doing again. Him and his regulations! Regulations demanded that the officers carry sidearms in circumstances like this and rather than fight it, Anny wore one.

_I wonder what he'd say if he knew I didn't have a clip of ammunition in it?_

The shuttle detached itself from the asteroid and pulled away from the rock wall. A few moments of thrust was all that was needed to send them toward _Coeur de Lion_ which was drifting only a dozen kilometers away. Anny stared out the viewport at the multitude of small specks filling the sky. Dounby was the rendezvous point for the forces that were going to attack the orbital station. Only a hundred or so of the biggest and most modern vessels would be taking part, but many other belter craft were slowly arriving as well. Anny was not entirely sure what they hoped to do when the fighting started, but there certainly were a lot of them.

And not all of them were small ships like _Long Shot_. The prospectors seemed to favor vessels in the thousand to five thousand ton range, but there were plenty of bigger ones, too. Processing ships and ore haulers. Some were as big as _Coeur de Lion_. All the ships chosen for the attack were impeller driven and several even had sidewalls using generators salvaged from wrecked Peep LACs. Not that the sidewalls were going to stop much of anything.

Anny shook her head slightly. The Belters were working very hard and Anny's own people were helping them as much as possible, but the sad truth was that most of these ships were only going to be of use as additional targets to dilute the Peep fire. They had no real defenses, no countermissiles, no laser clusters and only the sketchiest of electronic countermeasures—and that only courtesy of what Patric and VanVeen had been able to patch together. Their weapons were a little better, but not much. The captured LACs had been fitted out with modern missiles, and Anny had given away a few dozen more to the Belters more as a show of solidarity rather than out of hope they could do anything useful with them. The five hundred Peep missiles had been given out, too. Leighton had said at the meeting that they were getting them operational, but Anny was skeptical of whether they would really work. The Belter ships also had a few reasonably powerful lasers, but she doubted they could penetrate a sidewall. If they could get a throat or kilt shot against a lightly armored destroyer or frigate, they could probably do some damage, but it would not be easy to get close enough for that.

No, whatever real fighting was in store for them would have to be done by _Coeur_ _de Lion_. Anny looked out at the ship—her ship—as the shuttle headed for the boat bay. The scars from the battle were mostly gone—unless you knew where to look for them. They had not bothered to try and repaint the hull where the patches had gone on and there were some noticeable discolorations here and there. However, the most obvious things to be seen were the two large holes where the converters had been removed from the after Alpha ring. Philip VanVeen had not been happy to have to stop his project of relocating them. But once the decision was made to fight, his services and those of his work crews were needed elsewhere.

The shuttle settled into its cradle in the boat bay and Anny unfastened her safety harness. There were three technicians coming back from the asteroid on board, but they properly stood back to let Anny debark first. She dove down the zero-g boarding tube and swung herself across the red warning line into the normal gravity of the ship.

There was a full side party waiting for her and they piped her aboard. Anny held back a grin. Up until these meetings on Dounby, Anny had never had a reason to leave the ship. Now, every time she came back, she was reminded that she was _The Captain_. The first few times it had embarrassed her a little, but she was actually coming to like it a bit.

There was an ensign waiting with the side party who saluted her. She returned it.

"Welcome home, Captain."

"Thanks you, Mister Belgie. Everything's running smoothly, I trust?"

"I believe so, Skipper. Lieutenant VanVeen asked me to tell you that he has been delayed by the modifications on one of the Belter ships and he will be a little late to the meeting."

"Very well. Thank you."

Anny headed for the lifts and checked her chrono as she did. She was scheduled to meet with VanVeen in only a few minutes, but that was going to be delayed. She could just go and wait for him in her office and try to get some paperwork done. She found it slightly incredible that there was still paperwork that had to be done under these circumstances, but apparently there was no getting away from it.

As the lift door shut, she reached out to punch the button for her deck, but then she hesitated.

_It's been a while since I did a walk through of the ship. It might be nice to do an unannounced one and see how the crew is making out. Tester! They are all working so hard!_

Anny punched a button and the lift took her down a few decks and she got out. There was no one in sight, so she just headed forward to see what she could see.

Twenty minutes later she was smiling to herself. A lot of startled expressions had greeted her unexpected appearance, but what she had seen had reassured her. The crew seemed happy and the ship was in excellent condition. It also seemed busier and more crowded than it had been and that was because it was. Despite some grumbling by Terrence Daley about regulations, Anny had decided to recruit some of the Belters as temporary volunteers to help out as damage control parties. They were terribly short handed in that department and Patric's people had been training the volunteers almost non-stop since they came aboard. She passed several groups of them-easily spotted in their civilian coveralls-during her tour. They all stopped what they were doing and greeted her.

As she walked, her arm brushed her holster. One thing Daley had insisted on was that as long as the Belters were aboard, the officers be armed. Anny had to wear the darn thing all of the time now. _I suppose it makes a certain amount of sense—not that I don't trust the Belters._

Her walk had taken her into some of the more remote parts of the ship. Up ahead she saw a lone Belter standing on a ladder with his head poked through a hatch in the overhead. It was a little odd that he would be here alone, but then she recognized the coveralls: It was Jeremy Carstairs.

Anny was not at all surprised that Jeremy had volunteered, but she has been astounded that Eleanor Reinl had allowed him to go. She was also a bit surprised that _Long Shot_ had followed them to Dounby and was still hanging around. It seemed like Captain Reinl's opinion of the Resistance had changed. Or was it something else…?

Anny came up and stopped next to Jeremy's legs. The boy had been assigned to Chris Tropio and she had him learning about the ship's environmental systems. Jeremy had mentioned to Anny that if there were any open spots on the bridge he'd be glad to help out. Anny felt bad having to turn him down. Now she lightly touched his pant leg.

"Hi, Jeremy. Really getting into your work, aren't you?"

Jeremy jerked himself out of the hatch and nearly fell off the ladder. Anny put out a hand to steady him.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have…"

Anny cut off her statement as Jeremy recognized her and made a sudden shushing sound. He looked up and down the corridor with wide eyes. The boy was clearly alarmed and she suddenly realized it was not because of her unexpected appearance.

"What's wrong?" she asked quietly.

"Commander Payne!" he whispered urgently. "I…I think you better listen to this!"

"To what?'

Instead of answering, he pointed to the hatch in the overhead. He handed her a small light he had been holding. Completely puzzled, Anny stepped up on the ladder and climbed a few rungs until she could stick her head through the hatch. She brought the light up and looked around. It was an air duct about a half-meter in diameter.

She could hear something besides the movement of air. There were some low voices echoing faintly. That was a bit odd: there were supposed to be noise baffles along with the dust filters…

She swung her light around and realized that the Peeps had been skimping on maintenance for a few years. She could see the frames where the baffles and filters should have been, but someone had removed them. From the amount of dust in the duct, it must have been a long time ago.

_What am I supposed to be listening for?_

She concentrated on the low voices but it was hard to hear what they were saying. Whoever was talking must be in a compartment a few dozen meters away that was fed by this duct. Suddenly one voice grew much louder.

"I'm telling you she's gonna get us all killed!"

Another voice answered back. "That's the captain you're talking about, Mister!"

"She's not a real captain! She's just a lieutenant with no experience at all!"

Anny froze. Not only were they talking about her, but she recognized the first voice.

_Oh no!_

"Well maybe so," said the other voice, "but she's got the Protector's Cross and the Manty CGM. They don't just hand those things out, you know!"

"Yeah? You know how she got those medals? A friend of hers was in trouble, so she led a whole squad of marines into the Peeps' guns to rescue her. It was a miracle that nobody but her got hurt. Now her belter friends are in trouble and she's volunteered all of us to help them out! I don't think this time we're going to be as lucky as those marines!"

A third voice said something, but Anny could not catch it.

"Well, we've got to do something!" said the first voice. "If we just go along with this, none of us will ever see Grayson again!"

"You're talking mutiny, mister!" said the second voice, angrily.

"It's not a mutiny if the captain is doing something crazy!"

"I've heard enough of this crap! You better just shut your mouth or you'll end up in the brig!"

Before the first voice could say anything else, there was a noise and then a new voice burst in: "Can it, you guys! The Skipper is wandering around the ship! She's on this deck now!"

There was some more noise and then silence. Anny stepped down a rung and looked up and down the corridor, but there was nothing to see except Jeremy's anxious face. Whatever compartment they had been in must open on another corridor.

Anny took two shaky steps down the ladder and stood beside Jeremy.

"Did you hear, ma'am?" asked the nervous Belter.

Anny nodded her head and then looked at him sharply.

"Not a word!" she said sternly. "Not one word of this to anyone! Do you understand me, Jeremy? Not one word to anyone! Not Chris, not Patric, no one!"

"Y…yes, ma'am."

"What were you doing here anyway?' she asked in a milder tone.

"Chr…Commander Tropio had told me to familiarize myself with where all the air ducts run. I was just tracing this one when…when I heard them."

"All right. You keep right on doing what you were doing. Just forget this ever happened."

"But what about…"

"I said forget it, Jeremy! If you can't do that, I'm going to have to get you off the ship. Do you want that?"

"No, ma'am," said Jeremy, obviously shaken. "I won't say a word to anyone."

"Good." Anny put her hand on his shoulder. "And thanks."

Anny turned away and headed back to her office. Her head was swirling. She only recognized one of the voices, but that was bad enough. At least he did not seem to have much support with whoever he was talking to.

_I can't believe this! I've got enough to worry about!_

She reached her office. She was acutely aware of the marine sentry. VanVeen still was not back yet. She sat down at her desk and rested her head in her hands.

_Now what do I do? If I take action, it will wreck morale. I know that those who support me are suspicious of those who have voiced doubts. If I bring this out in the open, no one will know who to trust. And the Belters will be sure to hear about it and they'll start having doubts about us, too. But can I afford to ignore it?_

She had no answer. It did not seem like an imminent mutiny was brewing, but who knew who else he had talked to? Maybe there were other people aboard who agreed. Maybe there were a lot of them…

_I can't afford to do anything right now except be prepared._

Anny straightened up. She reached down and opened the flap of her holster and drew out the pulser. It felt cool and reassuringly heavy in her hand. She opened her desk drawer and rummaged around until she found the clip of pulser darts she had left there.

She fit it into the slot in the pistol butt and slid it home with a loud click.

**Chapter Forty**

"**I** hated you, Alby. God, I don't think I ever hated anyone so much!"

Alby Hinsworth sat in the junior officers' wardroom on _HMS Defiant_ and looked at the stunningly beautiful woman sitting opposite him. He was glad that she had put her last statements in the past tense. He was not entirely sure how the Lady Sandra Bennett felt about him now, but he did not think she hated him anymore.

That was all he was hoping for when he first started his campaign to "bury the hatchet" as Captain Loehlin had urged him to. But now, nearly two months later, he had almost come to think of Bennett as a friend. He certainly spent more of his free time with her than he did any other person aboard the ship. Of course, Alby had always had an interest in attractive women and there was no denying that Sandra was a pleasant eyeful.

"Well, I suppose I gave you reason to, Sandra. At the time it just seemed like a joke to take you down a peg or two off that pedestal you carried around with you. But I guess I did over-do it. I never really thought people would remember it as long as they have."

"Remember it? I don't think they'll ever forget it! I didn't even know what a frog was before then and now I'm branded the 'Frog Princess' forever after!"

"Hopefully not forever," said Alby. He could see that Sandra was getting herself worked up and he figured he better change the subject.

"Why did you ever join the Navy, Sandra? You don't seem the type any more than I did."

"Oh, family tradition, I guess," said Bennett with a shrug. "Everyone in my family has always joined up. Very few of them ever made it a career so that's why you don't see any Bennetts in the upper ranks, but it's something we're pretty proud of."

Sandra's remark had been off-hand, but then she paused and a haunted look came into her eyes. It was a look that Alby had seen several times in the past weeks.

"But…but I'm the first one to see any combat in this war—or ever as far as I can tell."

"Was it bad?" asked Alby gently. "None of the old crew seems to want to talk much about the ship's last fight."

"I don't know what to compare it to, Alby. I guess it wasn't as bad as what happened to you on your 'prentice cruise—at least we made it back under our own power. But it was bad enough."

Bennett stared off into space for a moment and then took a gulp from her drink.

"A battle is so different when you're not on the bridge. At the Academy, we had all that simulator time and we were there at the command stations and we could look at the tactical display and at least have an idea of what's going on. I was second in command of the port energy batteries and I didn't have a clue about what was happening! We were at battlestations for a long time. There were targets on our screens in case we had to go to local control, but that didn't tell me much—and we never got into energy range anyway. Then the ship started shaking around. We were getting hit again and again by missile fire, but that was all I could tell.

"From that point I was just helping Lieutenant Meyerson keep the energy weapons on line, switching capacitors from damaged weapons to undamaged ones and sending in our requests for damage control. Then we lost contact with a whole battery of grasers and Meyerson sent me out to find out what had happened and try and fix it. It turned out just to be cut communications lines. I set a DC party to work on it and then headed back to the control room."

Bennett shook her head. "It was gone. The whole control room had just been wiped away. Not a trace of it left. There was a huge, ragged hole on the other side of the pressure door. I could look out into space. Meyerson and three ratings had just vanished. I didn't know what to do. There was a secondary station and after a while I went to it and tried to do my job, but I was in a daze. Eventually, the ship stopped shaking and I felt the hyper generator kick in. We had gotten out of wherever we were and the Captain announced we were heading for home."

Alby was staring at her intently. She had not said anything about this before. He had checked the records, and he knew what was coming next, but he knew it was not going to be easy for her.

"Then I went looking for Archie. He had been in Missile Two. We had both used our influence to get assigned to the same ship. It had seemed like a perfectly natural thing to do. You knew we were lovers didn't you?"

"Well, I had sort of figured that, yeah," said Alby.

"Well, we were. Had been since Second Form. We both had other flings, but we always came back together. I guess maybe we would have gotten married eventually." She stopped and sighed. "But that's not going to happen now_. Defiant_ lost a third of its crew that day. Archie was one of the dead. He went just like Lieutenant Meyerson, nothing left to bury—vaporized."

"I'm sorry, Sandra," said Alby, quietly.

"It took me a while to figure out what had happened. Even then, I refused to believe it. I guess I sort of went crazy. I was wandering all through the ship looking for him and calling his name. Eventually, they had to sedate me. The ship came home a wreck and so did I. _Defiant_ went into a repair slip and I went to the Psych Unit. They managed to patch us both up, I guess."

Alby sucked on his teeth and watched the pretty young woman, but he said nothing. What could he possibly say? Suddenly she laughed.

"They put me back together again, but they took me all the way apart before they did. Laid all the pieces out on the table and looked them over—made me look them over—before they put them back inside. That's not an easy thing, Alby. Especially for someone like me."

Alby quirked an eyebrow at Bennett.

"You thought I was a real bitch at the Academy, didn't you? C'mon, be honest, you did, I'm sure of it."

"Well…yeah," admitted Alby with a shrug.

"Well, you were right, I was. I had always been one. Rich, powerful, beautiful—everyone always thought I had used biosculpt to look this way, but I hadn't, it's all the real me. Well, it was until your pal Anny Payne did that job on my nose. Anyway, I had always had everything my own way. At school I was the center of attention, everybody wanted to be my friend. All the boys were in love with me. That was the way it was supposed to be, right?

"And when I went to the Academy, it was going to be more of the same. There was a war going on, but what did that matter? The war wasn't real. _I_ was the only thing that was real, the universe revolved around me."

"Is that what the psycho-babblers told you?" asked Alby. He was slightly surprised at where the conversation was going.

"Yeah," said Bennett, "but they were right! That was exactly how I felt. And for a while, things went the way I expected at the Academy. But then your friend, Anny Payne, dared to try and be as popular as me. And when she refused to join my 'court', well! She had to be punished! No peasant from some barbarian world could snub me and get away with it!"

Bennett paused and shook her head. "God! I can't believe I wasted my time on crap like that! And then after you 'frogged' us and beat the hell out of us, Archie and I spent hours fantasizing on how we would get our revenge. But your family was too powerful and Payne's family had diplomatic immunity and Zilwicki had her fame and the Commandant on her side. We almost went after McDermott and Arlov, but somehow never quite got around to actually doing anything."

Bennett stopped again and finished off her drink. She sat, staring at the deck for a minute or more in silence.

"But then when the ship was shaking around me and I was scared to death, and later when I realized Archie was really dead, it all seemed so trivial. All those things that had been so important—they really never mattered at all."

"Getting shot at does tend to put things into a whole different perspective, doesn't it?" said Alby.

"Yes, it does. And it changes people. That bitch that I had always been died in the battle just the same as Archie. I…I'm not quite sure who I am now…"

"But the psych people let you come back to _Defiant_," observed Alby.

"They thought it would be good therapy," laughed Bennett. "Y'know, get back on the horse again."

Alby nodded, but he was thinking that there had to be more than that at work. Her family connections, perhaps? For a breakdown as serious as what Sandra was describing it was surprising they had let her back on a ship so soon. Maybe she was exaggerating how bad she had been—or maybe her family pulled some strings to avoid the embarrassment of a psychological discharge. Or maybe the doctors really thought this would be the best thing for her.

"What do you think?" he asked.

"I wanted to come back," she replied after a slight hesitation. "I'm not entirely sure why. Maybe it's just to hit back at the Peeps. Y'know, revenge, just like your friend Helen."

Alby started slightly. Helen had never made a secret of her desire to punish the Peeps, but she never really broadcast it either. _I guess it was pretty obvious at that._

"You don't seem quite so driven as Helen was," said Alby slowly.

"No I guess not," admitted Bennett. "Now _there_ was one scary bitch! She scared me even when she wasn't beating the snot out of me. What's she up to these days, anyway?"

"Assigned to a LAC carrier the last I heard—which was quite a while ago." Alby checked his chrono. "I have duty in a few minutes, guess I better go. It's been nice talking with you, Sandra"

"Thanks for listening, Alby. I hope we can talk again. You're a lot more fun when I'm not hating you."

Alby chuckled. "Thanks—I think. See you later."

"See you later, Alby."

[Scene Break]

Alby went to the bridge and relieved the sensor operator on the previous watch. He settled into his seat and checked over the control station. Everything was operating as it was supposed to—and, as usual, the display was empty.

Alby sighed. They were no longer searching the boundaries of that grav wave. They had spent over a month doing that and then after a trip back to Holiway to refuel and get news, they had gone out again and were now searching individual star systems. At the moment, however, they were back in hyper, on their way to another system, searching the Delta bands as they went. It was probably pointless. By this time if the missing ship had not gotten to _somewhere_, it probably never would. Alby tried not to let himself get depressed by the lack of success, but it was hard.

Once he was certain everything was nominal on his board, he let his thoughts wander back to Sandra Bennett. He found that he was strangely attracted to her—and not just because of her looks. Her story had touched something in him and he really did feel sorry for her.

_And she really is good looking…_

Some of the things Sandra had said over the last few weeks and some of her body language had hinted that she wanted more than just talk out of Alby. He was tempted to push things and see where they went, but for the moment he was willing to hold back. He did not entirely trust her. It seemed unlikely, but she could still be looking for revenge against him—and how much easier it would be to exact it if she lured Alby into bed with her! Still, he doubted it. Too much of her story could be verified: Archie Lansdorff had indeed been killed in _Defiant's_ last action, and Lieutenant (j.g.) Sandra Bennett had spent four months under psychiatric treatment on Manticore.

No, it seemed more likely that she…

"Standby on the hyper generator, Ms. Elkhart. Time to shift up another microband," said Commander Bryan MacDonald, startling Alby out of his musings.

"Aye, sir," replied the Engineering Officer.

Alby Focused in on his sensor display. The ship was cruising in the Delta bands and periodically shifting from one microband to another in hopes of spotting something.

"Hyper generator standing by, sir," said Elkhart.

"Very well, engage," said MacDonald.

The First officer sounded a bit bored to Alby, and why not? They had been at this for months and the Grayson cruiser that Alby had spotted was the only thing they had seen. The chances that they would spot anything now were…

Alby felt the faint twinge as they shifted microbands, but his attention was instantly drawn to his sensor display where a cluster of red dots had suddenly appeared!

"Contact!" he exclaimed. "Multiple contacts! Bearing three-one-one by minus one-four, range eight point two light minutes!"

MacDonald jerked upright in his chair and stared at the main display where the red icons glared angrily. There were plenty of Alliance vessels in the region, but they would all be searching singly or in very small groups. There were at least a dozen contacts here and that could only mean one thing.

"Captain to the bridge!" said MacDonald into the com.

"Loehlin here, what is it, Mister MacDonald?" came back the captain's voice almost immediately.

"A large group of contacts, ma'am. At least a dozen. Eight point two light minutes off to starboard. We just shifted microbands and there they were."

"I'll be right there."

"Should we go to battlestations, ma'am?"

"Not yet. They're still far out of range. I'll be there in a moment."

Alby stared at his board and tried to figure out just what they had encountered. Some of them read as military grade impellers and some did not. A convoy? But headed where? They were well outside missile range and slowly falling astern of them. A minute later, Captain Loehlin came onto the bridge and relieved MacDonald.

"Status report, Number One?" she asked coolly.

"Looks like a small convoy with a heavy escort, Skipper. There are four ships that read as merchants or transports. They've got six escorts up front or on the flanks. There are probably at least a few more behind the transports, but we can't get a good read on them. We are on nearly converging courses, but we are pulling ahead of them and they won't get any closer than they are now as they pass across our stern."

"I see. Very well, Helm, put us on a parallel course and reduce speed to match theirs."

"Aye, aye, ma'am," said the helmsman.

_HMS Defiant_ swung her bow around nearly one hundred and eighty degrees and increased power to her impellers. Slowly her vector started to bend to match that of the target. Her speed dropped bit by bit. As Alby watched his display, it was obvious the enemy had spotted them as well.

"The escorts are concentrating at the head of the convoy, ma'am," he reported.

"Can you distinguish the ship classes, Mister Hinsworth?"

"Nothing above battlecruiser size, ma'am. I can't really make out any more detail at this range."

They watched for another twenty minutes, but the escorts stayed where they were.

"They won't come after us," said the Captain. "They're afraid we are trying to sucker them away from the convoy so another force can bounce them. The question now becomes: Just what are these folks up to? Mister Hinsworth, launch a sensor drone. Let's get a better look."

Alby had been expecting that order and had already programmed a drone just in case. It only took him a moment to finish giving the orders and send the remote sensor platform on its way.

"Drone launched, ma'am. We should get some better readings in about fifteen minutes."

"Very well."

The time dragged by. The drone's drive burned out only a few minutes after launch, but its new vector took it inexorably toward the targets. Minute by minute the readings got better.

"Looks like a pair of battlecruisers, ma'am," reported Alby. "_Sultan_ class, I think. A pair of heavy cruisers and two destroyers. Four transports, around six megatons each. I still can't get a good read on the tail end of the convoy. Two or three other ships back there. One looks a bit bigger. Maybe a cruiser and one or two destroyers."

A new icon appeared on the screen.

"Oops! They've spotted the drone, ma'am. Countermissiles launched."

The drone had no power to maneuver, so all they could do was watch the enemy icons merge with its own and after a moment, they had all vanished.

"Drone destroyed, ma'am," said Alby. "Shall I launch another?"

"No, we've found out all we can likely find from this distance," said Loehlin. She was silent for a few minutes, then she turned to the Astrogator.

"Ms. Sztubinski, based on their present course, where would you guess they came from and where might they be headed?"

Lieutenant Katrina Sztubinski must have been already working on that because she answered immediately.

"Their course backtracks to grav wave GA-10459, ma'am. They could have picked that up from several different Peep held systems, or they could have shifted to it from another wave that came from somewhere else. Sorry I can't be more specific. On the other hand, their current heading will take them directly to star system HC-34783-F3475. I can't say if that is their final destination, but that is the only inhabited system anywhere near their present flight line."

"How long until they reach that system?"

Sztubinski put the navigational information on the main display. "At their current course, speed and hyperband, they should arrive there in nine point four days, ma'am."

Captain Jennifer Loehlin was silent again as she stared at the display.

"That's an awfully heavy escort for just four ships. They must be carrying something pretty important. Ms. Sztubinski, if we increase speed and went up to Theta, how soon could we get to their destination?"

The Astrogator punched a few numbers into her board and then looked up. "Allowing for lost speed when we switch bands, we could get there in a little under five days, ma'am."

"All right, that's just what we are going to do. Ms. Sztubinski, lay in the course. Ms. Elkhart, charge up the hyper generator and prepare to translate up to the Epsilon Band."

"Aye, aye, ma'am," replied both officers.

"Let's go see what's so damn important about system HC-34783-F3475."

**Chapter Forty-One**

"**O**kay, try it now," said Lieutenant (j.g.) Patric McDermott. He stepped back from the mechanism he had been working on and looked toward the Belter technician a dozen meters away.

"All right," said the woman, "Testing now…,"

There was no visible results, but the woman stared at her control panel for a moment and then smiled.

"I think that did it, Lieutenant. The readings are right where you said they should be." She paused and her smile faded. "You're sure there's no way we can test this out for real?"

"I'm afraid not," said Patric. "You only get one shot with this thing. We don't want to waste it on a test."

The woman nodded and Patric began sealing up the access panels on the laser. He was on one of the Belter ships that would be taking part in the attack—tomorrow, Good Grief! He had been on so many of them in the last few weeks he had forgotten the name of this one. It was one of the bigger ones, nearly eight thousand tons, and it mounted two lasers in its bow. They were the biggest and most powerful lasers the Belters could manufacture, but they were still pitifully weak compared to a real military grade weapon. In order to give it some additional punch, Patric had modified one of the lasers. It could now fire a shot that would be four or five times more powerful than normal. Unfortunately, it could only do it once. The additional power would burn it out after a single shot.

"What sort of performance can we realistically expect from this?" asked the woman—Patric had forgotten her name, too, which showed how tired he was—he was usually very good with remembering names.

"Realistically? Your standard laser could probably do some damage if it got a throat or kilt shot out to about two hundred thousand kilometers against something like a destroyer or frigate. Against a cruiser make that a hundred thousand. Through sidewalls, you can forget it at just about any range. This one that we've modified, you can double those ranges and maybe could do damage through a destroyer's sidewalls out to about a hundred thousand."

_Point blank range, in other words,_ thought Patric. Closer than they had any chance of ever getting against an alert opponent. Particularly when a single hit would blow this flimsy craft to very small pieces. Patric felt sure that the Belters knew very well what their chances were, but he had no intention of saying so out loud.

"How did you make out with those missiles?" he asked instead.

"Well, we have eight of our own missiles. Thruster driven so they can only do about two thousand gees for three minutes. The pair that we got from you have got a hell of a lot more range and legs, but the guidance system is just a jury rig. I guess we better get pretty close before we let any of them fly."

"You don't have any launchers," observed Patric. "How do you handle launching the two impeller driven birds?"

"No, they are just strapped to the hull like all the others," agreed the woman. "We have small thruster packs to push them clear when we launch. We just have to stay clear of the main thruster exhaust on our missiles. The impeller missiles are a bit trickier. We've got a delay rigged so they don't try and bring up their wedges too soon and fry themselves. Of course we could just drop our own wedge when we launch to avoid that problem."

"Well, then you have to make sure the missile's wedge doesn't shred _you_," warned Patric.

"True," laughed the woman. "We'll be careful."

Patric nodded and then checked his chrono. "I have to get back to my ship soon. Is there anything else I can do for you here?"

"I don't think so. Thanks for your help, Lieutenant." She walked over to Patric and held out her hand. "Thanks for giving us a chance."

Patric took it and shook hands solemnly. "Good luck."

[Scene Break]

Patric looked out the viewport of the shuttle taking him back to _Lionheart_ and whistled silently. _Wow, there are a lot of ships out there! _For weeks they had been assembling around the base on Dounby. Patric did not know how many there were, but certainly several thousand. Only a little over a hundred of them would be part of the attack, but many of the others were armed vessels, too. Many more were unarmed and Patric was not sure what they were expecting to do.

At first Anny had been afraid that this concentration would attract the attention of the Peeps, but the Belters had assured them that this sort of thing happened all the time. The Belters were divided into families and clans who assembled at regular intervals for weddings and funerals and other ceremonies and celebrations. They had done this for generations and the Peeps paid no attention to it anymore.

Patric knew that similar concentrations were occurring near Stronsay and Pierowall, the two major asteroid bases the Peeps controlled. The operation to capture them was going to be carried out by teams already on the bases, but the ships would be ready to move in once the bases were secure.

He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. He was very tired. The work had been almost non-stop from the moment Anny had made her decision. It had been a tough decision for her, Patric knew that, but he was glad she made the decision she had. He liked the Belters and wanted to help them, but the job was enormous. For the last month they had been helping fix up the Belter ships and then train, train, train! The Belters needed training and so did the crew of _Lionheart_.

But now, all the work and training was coming to an end. In a little over twelve hours the attack was to begin. Anny had ordered that all of the work was to be completed by this hour to give everyone the chance to get a decent sleep before going into action. Patric was looking forward to that. He was nearly asleep on his feet (or in his chair at the moment) and the stim tabs could only be used so far.

As tired as he was, however, sleep would probably not come easily. There was too much to be excited about. They would be going into battle tomorrow. At this very moment the Belter commando teams (they probably did not rate such a designation, but Patric did not know what else to call them) were getting ready to strike. Once they went into action, there could be no turning back for any of them. He had confidence that the plans would work. He was scared, but if the Belters' information was correct, if the commando teams did their jobs, and if they got even a little bit of luck, things should work out.

_A lot of 'ifs', I know, but what other choice did we have?_

As the shuttle drew near the ship, Patric looked out at the strange modifications they had made to her based on Lieutenant Daley's outlandish idea. It was one of the strangest things he could remember seeing. But if it worked…

_Another 'if'. Too darn many of them for comfort right now._

Patric's shuttle settled into its cradle in _Lionheart's_ boat bay with scarcely a jolt. He got up from his seat, stretched, and yawned. After a few minutes the boarding tube was attached and he picked up his tool kit and went aboard. The ensign and the side party waiting to check him through looked as tired as felt.

He headed down to Damage Control Central to stow his toolkit before heading back to his quarters. Anny had set the final briefing for 0600 tomorrow. Two hours later, the 'fleet' would head into action. His path took him past Environmental Control and he met Chris Tropio in the passage.

"Hi Patric," she said. "All done over there?"

"Yup. I guess we're about as ready as we're going to get. Of course if I had another six months to work on it, we'd be in a lot better shape, but…"

"But we don't have another six months," finished Chris for him. "Do you get the feeling the Commodore is rushing things?"

"They've been waiting a long time for this," said Patric. "But you are right, I think he's eager to proceed. Maybe he's worried we'll have second thoughts and leave."

"Well, if we waited another six months, he might have a legitimate worry. People are eager to get on with this and get home."

Patric nodded. He felt the same way. Of course, they had a full load of fuel now—they _could_ just hyper out and go home. The Commodore had made good on the agreement although it was obvious he had misgivings. But _Lionheart_ was going to keep its end of the bargain. Most of the crew seemed determined to help. Most of them.

"Were you over on _Grampian Luck _today?" asked Chris after a moment. Patric could sense the worry in her voice.

"Just briefly. There wasn't much we could do on her since she's not going to be part of the main attack force," answered Patric carefully.

"Did…did you see Sean?"

"For a few minutes. He told me to say 'hello' to you."

"Just 'hello'?"

Patric smiled. "He sends his love and says he'll try to not worry about you if you don't worry about him."

"Fat chance of that!" said Tropio.

"You're pretty fond of him, aren't you?"

Tropio nodded and blushed slightly. "I guess I am. Pretty amazing considering how we met. But he really is a good man. I sure hope he comes out of this okay."

"He should be all right, Chris," said Patric in a reassuring tone. "If we do our job, he should never get near the fighting. I'm more worried about those poor devils who are coming with us. They are so damn vulnerable if the Peeps put up a fight."

"I know. I'm praying that the Peeps just see this whole thing as a bad job and get the hell out of here."

"Well, there's always that hope," said Patric, stifling a yawn. "Hoo! I'm beat. Time to get some sack time."

"Yeah, me, too," agreed Chris. "See you at 0600."

"Right."

Patric walked back to his quarters and was preparing to undress and climb into his bunk when his com terminal chimed. Sighing, he hit the accept button. It was a text only message which read simply:

'Lieutenant McDermott, please report to the Captain's day cabin as soon as possible.'

Patric smiled. As tired as he was, he would be glad to see Anny for a few minutes. He just hoped it was not some last minute crisis that would prevent him from getting some sleep.

The corridors of the ship, which had seemed much busier in recent weeks, were nearly deserted again. Most of the crew, except for a skeleton watch, were in their quarters resting for tomorrow's fight. Patric reached the day cabin and pressed the door buzzer. He was sleepy enough that he did not notice there was no marine on duty.

The hatch slid open and there was Anny. She looked tired, but she smiled warmly when she saw him.

"Come in," she said. Patric stepped through the hatch and she shut it behind him.

"Hi, Anny," said Patric. "You wanted me for something?"

"Yes, I do," she said. "I want you to take your clothes off and make love to me. Right now."

Patric blinked. "I beg you pardon?" he choked.

"I'll make it an order if I have to." Anny was not smiling.

"Uh, somehow I don't think that would be considered a legal order—especially not in the Grayson Navy."

"I don't care, damn it!" said Anny sharply. She stepped over to him and started opening up his tunic. He caught her hands in his and stared down at her.

"Anny, we have a big day tomorrow…"

"Patric, we are probably going to _die_ tomorrow!"

"I…I don't think it's going to be that bad," said Patric, a little shocked by her statement.

"Patric, I love you! Damn it, I love you! It's been three years since I fell in love with you and I've been good and followed the rules and done what a proper Grayson girl should do and I'm sick of it! I need you and I want you—right now!"

She pulled her hands free and wrapped them around him and began kissing him. At first he tried to gently fend her off, but she would not stay fended. Her hands slipped under his tunic and she was pulling him toward the couch by one bulkhead. He was far stronger than she, but somehow she pulled him down on the couch. It wasn't nearly big enough, but she squirmed around on top of him and continued to tug at his clothing.

"Anny! Anny, stop!" he gasped.

She stopped and sat up, sitting on top of him. She just stared at him. Her expression was partly hurt, partly angry and partly something he could not quite recognize. He had never seen her like this before. She'd been playfully aggressive, but never _predatory_ the way she seemed now. He was a little frightened by her mood, but at the same time he felt a sudden and surprising need for her, too.

"Are…are you sure about this, Anny? We promised your father and Grand Admiral Matthews and…"

"They're light years away and we'll probably never see either of them again! No one will ever know."

"We'll know."

"We'll know what?" she said almost angrily. "That we love each other and we did what men and women who love each other have done for a million years? God isn't going to mind! Or should I send for the Chaplain and have him marry us so we can do this legally?"

"Uh…"

Patric had no clue what to say. But he suddenly wanted her, too. More than ever before. Her expression began to soften and she bent down to kiss him again. This time he did not fend her off. He pulled her close and kissed her in return.

Now both pairs of hands were tugging at clothing, undoing fasteners and shrugging off garments. The couch really was far too small and they rolled off onto the carpeted deck, both of them laughing.

Finally the last of the clothing had been tossed aside and they embraced. Patric felt Anny's warm beauty pressed against him and he wondered why he had fought this for so long. Nobody _would_ know and they _might_ die tomorrow. Why shouldn't they?

They kissed and touched and the only sound was their murmurs and giggles and their hearts pounding in their ears. Except…

Both of them jerked alert at the same moment. There was another sound. The sound of a priority message on Anny's com terminal. They just froze for a few moments.

How long had that been sounding? Too long, apparently, because a moment later there was a message over the ship's PA system:

"Commander Payne, please respond at once! You are needed on the bridge immediately! This is an emergency!"

Anny stared into Patric's eyes for a moment and then her expression became one of raw fury.

"Shit!" she shouted.

End of Book Three

**Third Interlude**

"**A**ll hands to witness punishment!"

The ancient order blared from every com panel and PA speaker on _PNS Mars la Tour. _Throughout the ship men and women dutifully went and stood before the nearest video display to watch what was about to happen. Most went because they had to. A few went because they wanted to.

Citizen Captain Gerard LaSalle did not need a video monitor. He could see it in person. The thought of what was coming revolted him, but he set his face in a stony stare and forced himself to watch. He was standing in what had once been the marine gymnasium. It was the closest thing the ship had to a parade ground. The compartment now belonged to the State Security men who had taken the place of the marines. LaSalle found that entirely appropriate for the present activity.

Several dozen of the SS men were there, along with a number of naval personnel and Peoples' Commissioner Zaharus. Most had stares that mirrored their captain's, but a few had hungry gleams in their eyes that would have made LaSalle shudder if he had allowed himself to.

He turned slightly as one of the hatches slid open. A small party of SS men entered with a naval rating in their midst. The man's wrists were handcuffed together in front of him. He was herded into the center of the compartment where a metal post rose up out of the deck. For a moment a look of hatred and defiance flickered across the man's face as he glared at the assembly waiting for him, but it quickly wilted and was replaced with fear.

When the newcomers reached the proper position they halted. LaSalle glanced over to his exec, Citizen Commander Edward Kreiser, and nodded. _Let's get this over with! _Kreiser stepped forward with a small compad in his hand that he proceeded to read from.

"Spaceman, third class, Francis Herrera, you have been found guilty by the ship's disciplinary tribunal of the following charges: Drunkenness on duty, insubordination, and the use of abusive and threatening language toward a superior. The tribunal has imposed the following punishments: Thirty days confinement in the brig and loss of all pay and privileges during that period."

Kreiser paused and LaSalle could see the distaste in his expression.

"In addition, the convicted will receive ten lashes. That part of the sentence will now be carried out." The rating turned pale and would have shrunk away except for the two burly SS men holding his arms.

Kreiser stepped back into the ranks. An SS sergeant glanced in LaSalle's direction. It might have been him he was looking at or the wiry People's Commissioner standing next to him, but he nodded as if the other man was not there.

_Floggings on my ship! I never thought I'd ever see that on any ship in the Peoples' Navy! But what else can we do?_

They were finally getting the disciplinary problems on the ship under control, but it had taken draconian measures to do it. Measures that had not even been legal at the time Gerard LaSalle first joined the navy, just before the start of the war. In those days, the officer corps had been entirely professional. Nearly three-quarters of the enlisted people were poorly educated conscripts, it was true, but the Navy always got the best of the lot and demands for personnel were still low enough that the conscription board could be relatively choosy about who they drafted. At the least, real troublemakers could be gotten rid of quickly.

When the war started and the government had 'changed' there had been a wave of patriotic fervor. The volunteers and conscripts that flooded in had been just as poorly educated as before, but at least they were enthusiastic and eager to serve. Much of the crew of LaSalle's last ship had been made up of those people and they had become a first rate team. But the enthusiasm of the people had waned. The war had dragged on and casualties had mounted. The river of volunteers had dried up and the conscription board was now forced to take whomever it could round up out of the teaming cities of Haven. The crew of _Mars la Tour_ was a particularly bad example of what that could lead to.

In another year or two, things would start looking up. There had been significant changes made in Haven's educational system and the new generation was growing up better educated and better disciplined than the previous ones. The first of them were just reaching military age now. If the Republic could hold out for another few years, those improvements might start being seen in the Fleet.

But for the moment, they had to deal with what they had—by whatever means necessary.

The SS men dragged the rating over to the metal post and fastened his manacled hands to a ring near the top of it. He whimpered slightly and tugged at his bonds, but then gave up and leaned against the post. An SS corporal came forward carrying a metal rod about half a meter in length. It had a hand grip with a red button on one end and translucent knob at the other.

It was know as a neural whip.

It was the sort of thing the SS would naturally delight in, thought LaSalle. It did no physical damage, but it directly stimulated the victim's pain centers causing excruciating agony. Or so LaSalle had heard.

The corporal stepped up behind the rating and pressed the red button. The knob on the end glowed blue. He touched the knob to the back of the man's neck.

There was no sound at all. The man stiffened and after a moment the knob stopped glowing and the corporal stepped back. The rating jerked at his bonds for an instant and then gave a gasp, followed by a groan.

"One," said the sergeant.

The corporal pressed the button and stepped forward and did it again. This time after it was done the man cried out in pain. It was a particularly awful sort of cry. Like he could still feel the pain—and perhaps he could. A cry interspersed with gasps like there was someone playing a hot iron across his back.

"Two," said the sergeant.

As the corporal stepped forward again, the rating twisted his head around and tugged at his shackles.

"No!" he screamed. "Not again!"

But he couldn't escape and then he was hanging from the post sobbing and shrieking.

LaSalle forced himself to keep watching. By the fifth stroke the man was in convulsions. By the seventh, LaSalle caught a whiff of something unpleasant. The neural whip often caused a loss of bodily control. The rating had been fitted with special underpants just in case and obviously they had been needed.

He felt guilt that one of his men was being put through this. He could not help but think that if he had done his job better this might not have been necessary. Corporal punishment had not even existed in the People's Navy when he first joined. Increasingly serious breaches of discipline had made it necessary. And with the SS around to administer it, it had become a useful tool.

_A tool. A man is being tortured before the whole crew and it's just a tool. God! What are we becoming?_

But LaSalle knew that it _was_ necessary. If left unchecked indiscipline was a rotting disease that could infect a whole ship. And once that happened, the ship was just a target for the enemy to destroy if it ever went into battle.

LaSalle glanced at Zaharus. The man's expression was as emotionless as his own. He did not like the People's Commissioner, but he had to admit that he had been useful in restoring discipline—once the man realized just what was at stake. It had taken the murder of one of his own favorites among the People's Youth in a gang fight to make him realize, but once he did, he had become an unlikely ally for LaSalle and Kreiser.

The murderer was now in the brig, along with another man who struck an officer. Both would face capital charges when the ship reached a naval base. LaSalle had no doubt they would be convicted and executed. He was just glad that the trial and hanging would not take place on his ship.

Following the murder, Zaharus and his SS, with the reluctant approval of LaSalle, had conducted a virtual reign of terror on the ship. The gangs had been broken up—several people being killed in the process—and the neural whip had been used again and again. It had nauseated LaSalle to see it being used at first, but there was no denying the results. This current use was the first time it had been needed in over a month.

"Ten," said the sergeant as the last stroke was administered.

The victim was just a twitching lump hanging from the post. A countergrav stretcher was brought up and the man was taken down and carried away to sick bay. The whip did no permanent _physical_ damage, but the psychological damage could be extreme. Some victims never recovered and nearly all had their spirits broken to some degree. The typical punishment was five strokes and that was just enough to make the victim very leery of ever risking it again. Twenty or thirty strokes would leave the person a quivering wreck—sometimes permanently.

"The formation is dismissed," said Edward Kreiser.

LaSalle sighed quietly and then headed for the exit. Kreiser and Zaharus and several of the others followed him. No one said a thing in the lift that took them up to the bridge level.

LaSalle strode onto the bridge. He glanced at the SS sentry with the slung flechette gun. He waved the officer of the watch back into the command chair and stood next to him.

"Status, Citizen Lieutenant?" he asked.

"No change, Citizen Captain. We are on course and the convoy is keeping station adequately. Nothing else to report."

LaSalle looked at the main display. The huge convoy they had started out with had dwindled down to five troop transports and six escorts: _Mars la Tour_, a light cruiser, two destroyers and two frigates.

"Time until we begin the drop out?"

"Two hours, twenty-two minutes, Citizen Captain. We should cross the Alpha wall at approximately thirteen-thirty hours."

"Thank, you," said LaSalle. He then turned to the officers that had followed him in. "Shall we begin the meeting?" He gestured toward the hatch leading to the briefing room.

Shortly, they were seated around the briefing table. Along with Kreiser and Zaharus were several other department heads. There was a coffee urn in the compartment, but no one seemed interested in putting anything in their stomachs at the moment.

"I wanted to have one final briefing on our mission before we arrive at our destination," began LaSalle. "You have already been briefed on the make up of the local population and their extensive operations in the system's asteroid belt. However, there are a number of unusual facets to the situation and I want you all to be clear on them.

"As you know, we will be arriving at the Scalloway system in just a few hours. Our mission, in general terms, is to render assistance to the local commander in eliminating rebel forces and establishing a tighter control over the system. There are several steps that will take place.

"Currently, our people only hold two of the largest asteroid bases and the orbital base at the inhabited planet. We are bringing thirty thousand troops with us. Five thousand will be left on each of the asteroid bases as reinforcements and the system reserve. That may seem like a lot, but each of those bases has a local population of nearly a quarter million. The existing forces are stretched pretty thin on both of those places."

"Seems like the whole garrison is stretched pretty thin, Skipper," said Edward Kreiser. LaSalle glanced at his exec. Ed seemed to have dealt with his feelings about this return to Scalloway. LaSalle just hoped they would not have to do anything to tear open those old wounds.

"Yes, that's true. There have been no significant reinforcements since…in quite a while. Ships are rotated out every so often, but the total force has not been increased. And unfortunately, there has been a significant attrition over the years. The system's LAC forces have been worn away year by year and there are only a half dozen left fit for service. You all know what happened to the cruiser that was on station here, too."

"Yes," interjected Zaharus, "murdered by the traitors that infest this system. We must root them out without pity!"

LaSalle frowned. Zaharus and Kreiser hated each other. The People's Commissioner had obviously found out about Kreiser's earlier tour here and probably some of his feelings about it as well. He never seemed to miss an opportunity to emphasize just what he wanted to do to the people of Scalloway.

"Well, be that as it may," said LaSalle, "we are not going to let anything like that happen to us. Anything that we may take on board while in this system is to be thoroughly inspected. Citizen Commander Kreiser, all stores, fuel, or anything else coming aboard must be carefully scanned. Citizen Captain Correze, I am depending on your people to be meticulous about checking any personnel that come or go."

"Right, Skipper," said Kreiser.

"Certainly, Citizen Captain," replied Correze after a moment. Correze irritated LaSalle. He was the commander of the ship's SS contingent. Not only did he resent that he had no marines, but the fact that the SS refused to observe the time honored tradition of there only being one 'captain' aboard a ship seemed like a calculated insult. If Correze had been harder working and more competent, LaSalle might have been able to forgive him, but the man was neither.

"Anyway, back to the mission. After delivering the troops to the two asteroids, we are to begin a sweep through the belt. The plan is that the remaining twenty thousand troops are going to be distributed to another hundred of the larger bases. Currently, these bases are unoccupied and the rebels have been using a lot of them for their own purposes. We don't know how strongly they might resist our doing this. If there is any resistance it will be our job to…neutralize it."

"Aren't those troops going to be pretty vulnerable spread out in penny-packets like that, Skipper?" asked LaSalle's sensor officer, Citizen Lieutenant Laura Landis.

"Hopefully not," answered LaSalle, although that was exactly what he had been thinking. "The idea is that the presence of the local civilians will keep the rebels from attempting anything too drastic and the troops should be able to control those smaller bases which usually have populations below ten thousand.

"And that is just Phase One of all this. In about a week, another convoy will be arriving. This will be carrying a hundred of our new model Light Attack Craft. I'm afraid these still aren't a match for the Manty _Shrikes_, but they are vastly better than the older models. BuShips estimates that two of ours should be a match for one of theirs—even though ours are half again as large. I have not seen them, but they look to me to be similar to frigates without the hyper generators or Alpha nodes.

"With the arrival of the LACs, we will be able to patrol the belt much more aggressively than before. Then we proceed to Phase Three. Someone back on Haven has noticed that these belters have large numbers of small shipyards scattered throughout the system. The idea is that we will take over these yards and put them to work building our new LACs. This second convoy is also carrying the equipment and technicians to put this plan into effect.

"Is that a smart idea, Skipper?" asked Kreiser. "I mean, putting the technology where the belters can get their hands on it could be pretty risky."

"Well, there is already military shipbuilding going on in the system. We keep a pretty tight control on it. The hope is that we will be able to do so with this plan. Actually, this ties in with another aspect of the security problem. The belters can construct their own ships. We are not happy that they can do so unsupervised. The local commander, Citizen Captain Charles Rocheway, is concerned that they may eventually tinker together their own hyper generators, alpha nodes and Warshawski detectors. If they get access to hyper travel, it will complicate our task enormously. By taking control of their largest industrial centers we hope to forestall that."

"Or just drive their operations further out system," said Kreiser.

"Perhaps, but it will certainly set back any time table they may have had. I agree with you that this is something of a risk. But the directive has come down from the top. For far too long the worlds we have 'liberated' have been a drain on our resources. It is time to make them an asset instead. The situation has become serious enough that we have to take some risks."

The people around the table nodded their heads, but none seemed terribly convinced. LaSalle was not really convinced himself. It was hard to believe that the resources they were going to expend could start paying dividends in less than four or five years. And the war would probably be decided in front of Haven itself in the next year or two. But the policy had been set and the orders cut and there was nothing to do but follow them and hope for the best.

"Is this Citizen Captain Rocheway going to be in command of the whole operation, Skipper?" asked Kreiser.

"He'll be the senior naval officer. General Siebert will be in overall command once he shifts from the transport to wherever he decides to make his headquarters. He has assured me that he won't try to tell the Navy how to do its business as long as we give him the support he wants." LaSalle's comment brought the scowls he had expected from his people, but he had to admit that the SS General Benjamin Siebert seemed extremely reasonable—so far.

"I think that covers the major points," continued LaSalle. "I'm sure we will get a more specific briefing after we arrive. Are there any questions?"

"I have one," said Landis. "Do you think this will be a permanent garrison assignment for us, or will we be sent somewhere else after things stabilize?"

LaSalle scratched at his chin. "I'm afraid no one has told me that, Laura. Keeping a battleship, even an old one, at a place like this does seem like overkill. I doubt any of these belters have seen a capital ship since their system was 'liberated' seventy years ago, so it might serve to overawe them. Whether we'll stay here after the initial phases are complete, the admirals have not told me. Sorry I can't be more specific."

"No problem, Skipper. I was just curious."

"As are we all, Citizen Lieutenant," said LaSalle with a smile. "Well, if that's all, let's get back to our stations. I think we'll have a busy couple of months coming up."

A little over two hours later _PNS Mars la Tour_ and her convoy emerged from hyperspace beyond the hyper limit of the system called Scalloway. Their navigation was a little off after their long voyage in hyper and they were over two hundred million kilometers from their first stop, the asteroid base known as Stronsay. Citizen Captain LaSalle was slightly annoyed at that. The hyper limit extended beyond the asteroid belt, so they could not have gotten any closer than fifty million kilometers even with perfect navigation. But a newly arrived captain always wants to look as sharp as possible when reporting to his new commander. Now it would be over five hours until they could rendezvous with the base. But there was nothing for it. _Mars la Tour_ broadcast the standard arrival message and then rounded up her charges and headed sunward.

[Scene Break]

Caroline Mackensie was tinkering with some of her new toy's power servos when the word came. Kevin Hensel burst through the hatch of the storage room so suddenly that she reached for her pistol before she realized who it was.

"Don't you know how to knock? I nearly shot you!" she said in irritation.

"It…it's on!" gasped the young man, trying to catch his breath.

"Of course it's on. It's been on for nearly a month. Where have you been all this time?"

"No! It's on for right now!" exclaimed Hensel. "One hour from now!"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Mackensie was starting to lose patience with her jumpy assistant. He was always getting wound up over one thing or another.

"Pearson sent me down to tell you! X-hour is now at eighteen hundred-today!"

"What?! Are you crazy? Or is he? Why would they do that?" Mackensie was suddenly at full alert. This had to be some mistake, but if it wasn't…

"A Peep convoy just arrived! It's headed for Stronsay with a mess of troops. It'll screw the plan six ways from Sunday if it gets there before we can take control. The word has gone out to begin the operation early!"

"How do you know that?" asked Mackensie, still unwilling to believe what she was hearing.

"How do we know anything the Peeps are doing?" shot back Hensel. "They don't tell me! We've probably got people on the inside somewhere, but all I know right now is that Pearson says to get ready!"

Mackensie just gawked for a second. She had been part of the Resistance for years, and during most of that time, she and her associates knew virtually nothing about what was going on anywhere except for their small part of things on the asteroid base of Pierowall. Then a little over a month ago they got the word that help had come from outside and the time to strike was at hand. The Plan was explained to them—at least enough of it so they would know why they were doing what they were doing. Final assignments were given out and preparations completed.

But X-hour was supposed to be twelve hours from now, not one!

"In one hour? Can we be ready in time?" she blurted at last.

"We have to be! If Stronsay goes, we have to, too! You can bet the Peeps will go on alert as soon as they get word that something's happening."

Yes, and that would screw all of _their_ plans. And it could still work. The plans had been set up with the Peep watch schedule in mind. They knew who would be on duty where and when—and those same people were on watch right now. One bit of luck anyway.

But only one. Mackensie looked at the huge lump of battlesteel and circuitry she had been tinkering with. It was a gift from the Outlanders and had become an essential part of their plan. It had been given over to her simply because she was exactly the right size to fit into it. But right now, its left leg was torn open for maintenance and she had, at most, thirty minutes to put it back together.

"All right, give me a hand with this thing!"

[Scene Break]

Citizen Corporal Sheila Jafrato checked her chrono. _Nearly the end of the watch._ _Maybe my last watch here._

She glanced over her security monitors automatically. Everything was secure in the marine armory—it always was. The heavy metal door behind her gave access to the racks of weapons and ammunition for the marine garrison on the asteroid base of Stronsay. During her watch, she was responsible for seeing that no one had access to the weapons without proper authorization. Ten meters down the corridor was the main checkpoint. Citizen Sergeant Lynch would check anyone there first before sending them on to Jafrato. On this watch, no one but the regular guard detachment had even come by.

She normally would have been feeling pretty bored by this time, but today she was excited and a little nervous about the rumors flying around the station. Reinforcements were arriving in just a few hours, they said. But it was the SS not more marines. Jafrato had never liked the SS and in the last two years she had learned to like them even less. Of course, they did not like the marines either.

She shook her head. It was all because of the political mess back on Haven. The Committee for Public Safety did not trust the Fleet. They also did not trust the marines. Apparently, the idea that there was a trained ground combat force who's loyalty might rest with the Navy instead of the Committee did not sit well with them. So they had been slowly removing the marines and replacing them with their own SS troopers. Sheila was not sure what was happening to the marines, but other rumors said they were being placed under SS officers and 'reeducated'. She was not too happy at that prospect. She liked her own officers well enough, and she did not think much of the SS officers she had seen.

_Still, it might be nice to get out of this place._ Scalloway was not exactly the center of the galaxy. It was a pleasant enough garrison post, she supposed. She had arrived after the one abortive rebellion the locals had tried years ago and they had been friendly enough toward her. So it was safe, but dull. The entertainment facilities on Stronsay were limited. The place had a quarter million people on it, and they had done wonders to make their rocky home a comfortable place to live, but Jafrato was from a big city and this whole place was hardly bigger than one of the housing towers she had grown up in.

And she had been here a long time. She had joined the marines to get out of that city she lived in. To see some of the galaxy. It was definitely time to move on—even if the future was not as secure or comfortable as the present.

A sound down the corridor caused her to look that way. There were several people talking to Citizen Sergeant Lynch and his assistant, Citizen Private Kureta. That was not unusual, but she blinked when she saw the suit of power armor looming over all of them just beyond.

_What the hell is that doing here?_

Normally, the power armor was stored over in the 'morgue', several corridors away. She supposed it was possible that it needed a replacement weapon or ammunition, but why bring it all the way over here for that? Normally, all maintenance was done right there in the morgue. If they needed something from the armory they could just send someone over with the proper paperwork and pick it up.

_I suppose there will be some explanation for this…_

An instant later, Sheila Jafrato got the explanation.

One of the newcomers had motioned Lynch and Kureta over to look at something on the suit. As they did so, the suit's two huge fists came up in impossibly fast arcs and smashed into both men's heads. The powered servos had tremendous force and the two hapless marines were lifted completed off the deck and smashed into the overhead. They fell to the deck, their necks snapped and skulls crushed.

Jafrato stared for an instant, frozen by what she had just seen. During that instant, the power armor started toward her and the other people dropped out of sight behind the security console.

The sight of that behemoth moving towards her freed Jafrato from her shock. She slammed her palm down on the big red button on her own console. Instantly, an alarm started shrieking. A moment later the automatic security system went into action.

Whoever designed the defenses for the armory had been told that the only threat was from poorly armed and equipped rebels, who would have no advantage except numbers. Accordingly, the ten meter corridor leading to Sheila Jafrato was covered by two automatic flechette guns and a single tri-barrel. Nothing without armor could live under the showers of flechettes that now filled the corridor and in case the attackers had some sort of portable shield, the tri-barrel was adequate to take care of that, too.

Unfortunately, no one ever imagined that an attacker might have a suit of power armor at their disposal.

The flechettes bounced off the heavy frontal armor of the suit harmlessly. The tri-barrel's rounds had more power, but not enough. They ricocheted everywhere and Sheila crouched behind her console for shelter, as deflected darts zipped past her.

The suit advanced relentlessly up the corridor. It reached where the tri-barrel projected from the overhead and its fist came up to smash it. The two flechette guns in the bulkheads were next.

That's when Sheila Jafrato realized that _she_ would be the next thing to be smashed. She had a pulser pistol on her belt, but that would be just as useless as the other weapons had been. There was nowhere to run. The only other way out was through the heavy door and into the armory.

_The armory!_

There were weapons there that could stop a suit of power armor. She had been ordered never to open that door without proper authorization, but no one had foreseen a situation like this!

With fear-quickened finger she typed in the entry code to the door. A tiny part of her warned that whoever these people were, they probably wanted the weapons and that she should not open the door for them. But the rest of her did not listen—if they had power armor, they certainly had the tools to open that door! And this was her only chance to live.

The suit was four meters away when the door slid open. She turned and dashed through it. If she could get it closed again, that might give her enough time to get one of the plasma carbines and be ready for it…

She almost made it.

[Scene Break]

Steve Dutton tried his best not to look nervous as he reported to the officers' galley on the station that orbited the fourth planet in the Scalloway system. The planet had no real name, although Dutton assumed that it would probably end up being called Scalloway if and when the terraforming was complete. The station had no name either. The locals just referred to it as "The Station" and even though there were a thousand other bases and stations in the system, everyone knew which one you were talking about. The Peeps had some sort of official designation for it, but none of the locals cared what it was.

"You're late, Dutton!" said the Chief Waiter.

"Sorry, sir," said Dutton meekly. But inside he smiled, in spite of his nervousness. The Chief Waiter was one of them, too, and he knew exactly why Dutton had been late. But he had to go through the motions or the Peep supervisors might get suspicious.

Dutton went quickly into the small locker room and removed his jacket and replaced it with the white waiter's jacket that was his uniform. Late as he was, there was no one else in there, so he had no trouble transferring several items from one jacket to the other. Then he quickly headed back into the kitchen to get his orders.

"Tables twelve through eighteen, and be quick about it!" said the Chief.

"Yes, sir."

Dutton went through the doors into the Officers' Mess. It was fairly crowded, but not as much as he would have liked. If X-hour had been as planned, it would have been during the 'morning' meal which was always more crowded. The Peep officers tended to come to the 'evening' meal in a more staggered fashion. Oh well, this will have to do…

Dutton stopped, his eyes wide.

_The Captain! And the Exec! What luck!_

He only hesitated for an instant, and then continued over to his duty station. He scarcely paid attention as the officers gave him their orders. His mind was racing. The captain of the station rarely ate in the Officers' Mess and he rarely followed any particular schedule. To find him here now was a Godsend.

He hurried back to the kitchen to get the food that was ordered and piled it on a cart. He was afraid the captain might leave while he was away, but he forced himself to calm down. He glanced at the other waiters. None of them were resistance members as far as he knew, and a few might even be sympathizers. There weren't many Peep sympathizers in Scalloway, but there were a few. And a lot of them were on this station.

It made sense. The Peeps were fairly careful about who they let into the military part of the station. But obviously, not careful enough. The Peeps had grown lax over the years. Except for a few acts of sabotage, there had not been any significant resistance operations on the station since the initial revolt.

The Peep officers liked their luxuries, and when there were not enough of their own people around (or after their new government took them away) they were only too eager to hire civilians to provide them. Civilians to clean rooms and fold laundry and serve meals. Civilians to provide other services as well. Any civilian workers were screened and watched and were expected to be friendly and cooperative. Dutton had cooperated. He did whatever was necessary to get this job.

As he wheeled the cart out into the mess, he glanced to make sure the Captain was still there-he was. Dutton looked at his chrono. He had cut this very close, less than ten minutes to go. He served out the meals to the waiting officers and then rolled his cart over to one of the huge armorplast viewports that lined one side of the mess. No one was paying any attention to him.

He pretended to be bustling about with his trays and silverware, but he was surreptitiously pulling out the items he had smuggled in with his jacket. Another resistance operative had given them to him. He had no idea where they had come from or how they had gotten them aboard—it wasn't his business to know.

The first two objects were common enough to have come from anywhere and would not attract much attention in any case. They were two metal bars, about twenty-five centimeters long and a centimeter thick. He stepped over to one edge of the viewport and placed one in the slot in the side of the frame. There was a sticky adhesive on one edge so it would stay where it was put. He casually put the other one on the opposite side of the viewport. A quick glance showed that the bars could hardly even be seen because of the recess.

The next part was trickier. He pulled a coil of what looked like plastic tubing from his pocket. He took the lid off one of the larger trays and attached the tube around the inside edge of the lid. He was careful to keep the red stripe on the tube pointing toward him. It was a little difficult. The lid had some condensation on it and the tube did not want to stick very well, but he finally had it done. He looked around but he was still unobserved.

His heart was pounding as he carefully propped the lid against the armorplast. He shuddered when he thought about what was going to happen, but then he looked through the 'port at the planet below. _Our planet! _It will be worth it.

How much time had he taken? The timer was pre-set and there was nothing he could do about it. He stepped back. The lid looked odd against the viewport like that, but if nobody thought it was too odd for another few minutes…

His pager beeped faintly. Right on cue. The Chief must have been watching and it was now time to get the waiters out of here—and fortunately, the waiters were the most likely ones to think his strangely propped lid might warrant investigation.

All the waiters' pagers had gone off at once and all were heading for the galley. As Dutton crossed the mess hall, his heart skipped a beat as he recognized one of the officers.

_Damn._

The woman sitting there, laughing with fellow officers, had taken a fancy to him once. He had played along and she put in the good word that got him this job. There was no doubt that they had just been using each other, and she had tired of him and gone on to someone else, but he had to admit that he had liked her.

_No time for this, she's still a Peep!_

The automatic doors to the galley slid open as he approached. He was the last one in and as the doors closed he turned and locked them shut. The other waiters were milling around in confusion. The Chief was stalling them. There was no sign of the Peep supervisor. Dutton checked his chrono. Thirty seconds. The doors into the galley were airtight, like virtually all doors on the space station, but unlike most they had round windows set in them. He went over to one and looked out.

There were dozens of resistance teams on the station, each had a task and they were all supposed to strike at the same moment. It was inevitable that the timing would not be perfect. With still fifteen seconds to go, there was an almost imperceptible shudder in the deckplates and the lights dimmed suddenly. They flickered for an instant and then brightened again. All the officers looked up in surprise. Their expressions changes to alarm as a siren howled with an ear-piercing noise. They sprang to their feet, scattering chairs everywhere.

But it was too late.

The very special bit of explosive in the plastic coil chose that moment to go off. It was not a lot of explosive, but gram for gram it was extremely powerful and it was specially formulated to direct almost all of its force in just one direction. In this case, against the armorplast viewport.

Dutton saw his cart vanish in a puff of smoke and debris. Sharp metal objects went flying and several officers fell. But then the smoke was gone—sucked out through the meter-wide hole that had just been blown through the viewport.

The Peeps had already been heading for the exits, but now a hurricane of escaping air tugged them back into the mess. Those closest to the exits could have probably fought their way out against the wind, but then automatic safety features went into effect. Sensors in the room noted the rapid drop in air pressure. The doors into the mess hall obediently slammed shut and locked. Sealing off the breach, and sealing the doom of the people inside.

Another safety feature might have still saved them—if not for the other thing Steve Dutton had done. A large metal shutter automatically slid down over the inside of the shattered viewport-and jarred to a halt twenty-five centimeters short of being closed, because of the two metal bars he had placed in the tracks. Still, it had sealed off part of the breach and the air did not escape as rapidly as before. Dutton had been worried that some loose object might have gotten sucked into the hole and plugged it—but nothing did.

He forced himself to watch. He was murdering all the people in that compartment. He told himself that it had to be done. Killing as many of the officers as they could at a blow would disrupt the station and give them a better chance of seizing control. It was a legitimate action, he told himself. And it was quick. Quicker than what was happening elsewhere on the station. He wasn't supposed to know about it, but another operative had slipped something extremely toxic into the coffee dispenser in the enlisted mess. The officers' food was too closely scanned to have tried that here, but at this moment men and women all over the station were probably starting to die in agony.

At least this was quick.

But Steve Dutton forced himself to watch. He was only glad that he could not spot one particular officer in a compartment where nothing now moved.


	5. Book Four

**Lieutenants**

**Book Four**

Trial by Combat

**Chapter Forty-Two**

**B**revet Lieutenant Commander Andreanne Payne, captain of the prize ship _Coeur de_ _Lion_ and nominal commander of the navy of Free Scalloway, stormed onto the bridge of her ship. The look on her face would have wilted a marine drill instructor.

_This had better be good!_

"Status!" she snapped. The acting watch officer, an ensign who normally would have been the com officer on third watch, jumped at her harsh tone.

"A…a priority message from Commodore Leighton, ma'am. He says Peep forces have entered the system and he needs to talk to you immediately!"

Anny rocked back. She had expected this to be something trivial, but apparently it was not.

"Summon the senior staff and then put the Commodore through," she said in a much different tone than before.

A moment later, the face of Perry Leighton appeared on the main viewer. He seemed agitated and worried.

"Commander! I've been trying to reach you for fifteen minutes! We've got a real mess on our hands!"

"What's happening, sir?"

" A small Peep task force has come out of hyper. It's way over on the other side of the system near Stronsay. The buzz around the station is that it's a troop convoy bringing reinforcements. I don't have any hard information on numbers or sizes of the warships escorting it, but we have a real problem."

"I should say so, sir!" agreed Anny. "We are going to have to delay our operations, at least until we have better information."

"We can't!" exclaimed Leighton and the distress on his face was plain. "Our people on Stronsay aren't waiting! They've already started their operations! Pierowall is following and our teams on the station will be going into action any minute. It's too late to stop it, we have to follow through!"

Anny's mouth was hanging open. He couldn't be serious! The operation was iffy enough as it was, but now with a new enemy force of unknown strength to deal with, this was insane!

"Commodore, do you think that's wise? It might be better to…"

"There's no choice, I tell you! Everything we've spent so long setting up is in motion now. I couldn't stop it if I wanted to! And if we don't do our part, all those people are going to die for nothing! I'm ordering all my ships to stand ready. I want to get moving in a half hour. That's an order, Commander! I'll talk to you again shortly. Leighton out."

Anny continued to stare at the blank screen after Leighton cut the connection. It was crazy! But what could she do? A small part of her rankled over Leighton trying to give her an order like that, but it was only a minor irritation compared to the vast uncertainty filling her.

She looked over her shoulder as her people started filing in. Patric had discretely waited several minutes before following her. When they were all there, she faced them.

"Well, it's hit the fan," she said and several people started. "Peep reinforcements have arrived near Stronsay. The Belters aren't going to wait. Their teams are striking as we speak. Commodore Leighton is taking his ships out in half an hour. He wants us to go along."

"How many reinforcements?" asked Terrence Daley.

"We don't know," said Anny. "Apparently not a large force, but numbers and types are unknown."

"But…but, that's crazy!" exclaimed Philip VanVeen. "We can't just rush in there blind!"

"I would agree with you, Philip, but the Commodore tells me there is no way to stop the operation now. The Belter teams are already going into action. And the fleet will be going, too—with us or without us."

"Well then, without us!" said VanVeen. "We've got a full load of fuel; when the Belters head inward, we should just head out beyond the hyper limit and get the Hell out of here."

"And abandon them?" asked Patric.

VanVeen looked angry. "I was against this from the start. But when it looked like we could do this with a minimum of risk, I did not oppose it. But now! God knows what we're sticking our neck into! I think all bets are off now!"

"We gave them our word," said Lieutenant Pickering. "We can't back out now."

"We promised to help them—not throw our lives away for them!" retorted VanVeen.

"Gentlemen, enough," said Anny quietly. "Again, the decision is mine. While I have no intention of just throwing our lives away, Mister VanVeen, Mister Pickering is correct: we did give the Belters our word. We cannot betray them. The honor of Grayson, the fleet and the Alliance is at stake here. We will accompany the Belter fleet and attempt to carry out our mission. If the situation becomes impossible, we will withdraw. But we have to at least try. If the Belters can seize those bases and get the weapons operational, it will even the odds enormously."

The words were coming out of Anny's mouth automatically. She had no idea if she really believed what she was saying, but once again there was no choice. No choice at all. She fixed her gaze on her officers.

"I intend to do my duty. But I need the help of every one of you. Can I depend on that help?"

Most of them answered 'Yes, ma'am' immediately and emphatically. VanVeen hesitated a moment.

"Yes, ma'am, you can," he said at last. "You're my captain and I'll follow where you lead. Please forgive my outburst."

"Nothing to forgive," said Anny. "I always expect you to speak your mind. Thank you, Philip. Now, let's get ready to move. Fortunately, the reactors are already on line. How soon can you bring up the wedge?"

"About twenty minutes, ma'am."

"Very good. Proceed."

"Ma'am? Should we alert the crew and get them to battlestations?" asked Terrence Daley.

"Not yet. It's hours before we get anywhere near that station. We may as well let them sleep."

It was actually almost an hour before the Belters were ready to move. Leighton commed them several times during that period. It seemed as though he doubted they would really be coming with him. Anny reassured him as best she could. She wished there was someone to reassure her.

The ship was ready, her people were ready, and she hoped she was ready. Part of her was glad it had happened this way. She would have done nothing but fret for the next twelve hours if things had gone as planned. Well, she had hoped to do something else besides fret for at least part of that time. With only a briefly lingering regret, she put that out of her mind and tried to concentrate on what lay ahead.

"Signal from the Commodore, ma'am," announced Ensign Andrew Siganuk. "Five minutes."

"Very well," said Anny. "Open a channel to the LACs, please."

"Aye aye, ma'am. Channel open."

"Are you folks ready out there? We'll try to give you as smooth a ride as possible, but stay alert and report any problems immediately." After a few moments the replies came back:

"_Retribution_ ready."

"_Avenger_, standing by."

"All green on _Revenge_."

"_Payback_ good to go."

Anny grinned in spite of her anxiety. The Belters certainly weren't holding back their feelings when they renamed the captured Peep ships!

"Mister VanVeen, how are the tractors doing?"

"All nominal so far, Skipper. Hopefully, the docking clamps will take most of the load, but the tractors should be fine."

"Good. What about our impeller signature?"

"Well, it breaks my heart as a good engineer to see a wedge fluctuating like that, but it should do the job. Between our changed mass and that wedge, I doubt any Peep would suspect what we really are."

Anny looked at the time and took a deep breath. "All right, stand by for departure. All stations report."

"Astrogation, course laid in and on the board," said Lieutenant Nick Brown.

"Helm, standing by to get under way on your order," said Ensign Daniel Radakovitch.

"Sensors, passive mode operational, active on standby," said Lieutenant Pickering.

"Tactical, weapons systems operational but at Condition Level Two, per your orders. Sidewalls on standby," said Lieutenant Terrence Daley.

"Damage Control, also at Condition Level Two per your orders," reported Patric.

"Engineering, reactors are nominal, other systems as I just reported, Skipper," said VanVeen.

"Flight Ops, LACs are secure and standing by, other small craft at Condition Level Two, per your order, ma'am," said Chief Peter McColgin.

"Communications, all systems operational, standing by for the Commodore's signal to depart," reported Ensign Siganuk.

"Very good," said Anny. She hesitated a moment and then added: "If I don't remember to say so later, I just want to thank all of you people for your hard work. No captain ever had a better crew than the one I have right now."

There were a few blushes and stammering 'thank you's' from her crew, but she could see that her words had had the desired effect. _Another trick they teach you at the Academy,_ Anny reflected. _But I meant every word of it! Now if I can just get these people home alive!_

"Signal from the Commodore," said Siganuk. "The attack force will depart on the mark. Thirty seconds from…now."

"Acknowledge, Mister Siganuk. Helm, stand by. Ahead at two hundred gravities on the Commodore's mark."

"Aye aye, ma'am. Standing by," replied Radakovitch. The seconds ticked by and then he said: "Impellers ahead at two hundred gravities."

"Very good. Put us on station—and keep an eye on those other ships. The last thing we need now is a wedge collision."

"Aye, aye, ma'am."

Anny stared at the main display. There were an incredible number of contacts showing on it. Most were unarmed belter ships that had assembled at Dounby, but a great number had some sort of armament. Leighton referred to them as the Reserve Fleet. Too slow or lightly armed to take along on this mission, but standing ready if they were ever needed. Smaller numbers had collected around Stronsay and Pierowall. From the looks of the situation the Reserve Fleet might be needed more at the two asteroids. But the Peeps were much more active in those areas and there was no way a concentration like this could have avoided being spotted.

Slowly, the icons of the attack force separated themselves from the surrounding mass and assembled in a ragged clump. There had been no time to drill the ships in any sort of formations. Considering their incredibly varied armaments, there would have been little point in it anyway.

Surely there had never been a fleet quite like this one! Prospecting ships converted to what the crew of _Coeur de Lion_ called VLACs—Very Light Attack Craft; much larger ore carriers, charitably called 'auxiliary cruisers'; a number of other vessels that defied classification. And one old heavy cruiser with four old LACs riding piggyback to disguise what it really was from enemy sensors.

Anny was in awe of the Belters' courage. None of their ships were true warships. The VLACs would be blown to bits with a single hit, their only defense being their impeller wedges and their maneuverability. The auxiliary cruisers were big enough to survive a few hits—if they were lucky—but paid for it with low accelerations and lack of agility.

_Coeur de Lion_ was their only real hope. Against even a frigate, the belters would be almost helpless. The Peep could outrun anything except the LACs and just pound them from long range with missiles. With only sketchy ECM and no countermissiles or point defense, the enemy missiles would be horribly effective. Even the limited magazines of a frigate could wreck fearful carnage. With a destroyer and a frigate, it would only be slaughter. That was what the Reserve Fleet was for: without the Grayson cruiser, the only option for the Belters was to throw so many ships at the Peeps that they simply couldn't kill all of them.

But _Coeur de Lion_ changed the situation dramatically. With nearly state-of-the-art electronics, countermissiles and point defense, the cruiser could give good protection to the other ships against the enemy missiles. And even with her modest twelve tube broadside, she could handle a destroyer and a frigate without a major problem. At least in theory.

But the real question now was: is that all they were going to have to face? If the orbital station was not put out of commission and _Coeur de Lion_ strayed within missile range, her defenses could be quickly overwhelmed. Her own missiles would make little impression against a station's spherical sidewall and defensive weapons. Even if the first phase of the operation was successful, what would happen next? Could they get the station's weapons and defenses back on line in time to face the convoy escort? A troop convoy might well have at least a battlecruiser as part of the escort, and even _Coeur de_ _Lion_ and every Belter ship in existence would be helpless against a foe like that. With the station to back them up, they would have a chance, but without it…

"Skipper? Commodore Leighton is on the com for you," said Ensign Siganuk, startling Anny out of her pondering.

"Oh, put him through." In a moment Perry Leighton was on the main monitor. While he still looked harried, his usual expression of confidence had almost entirely returned.

"Commander, we are getting some information from Stronsay and Pierowall and some of our other ships. The initial reports are looking good. Thanks to the power armor you gave us, we were able to seize the armories. With those weapons, our people are working to seize control. Fighting is still going on, but it looks like surprise was total."

"That sounds good, Commodore," said Anny. "What about the orbital station?"

Leighton frowned. "No word from there yet. That is not surprising. Our teams must all be very busy." Anny nodded, but she wondered if Leighton was telling her everything. Of course, there was the lightspeed delay to consider. They were still over ten light minutes from the station and nearly fifty from the asteroids.

"Any further information on the Peep reinforcements, sir?"

"Nothing specific. Long range sensors on some of our ships and platforms indicate five or six possible warships and four or five transports. No indication of size. Several of our ships are going in for a closer look."

_Five or six. If it's a cruiser and the rest destroyers and frigates, then we still have a chance—but if there is something bigger…_

"What about the Peep garrison ships?"

"We have not picked up any sign of the destroyer and frigate at the orbital station, so we can assume they are still there. There is a destroyer and a frigate and four or five LACs at Stronsay and two frigates and the rest of the LACs at Pierowall. Apparently they are buzzing about in confusion, but have not taken any action yet."

"The station is going to pick us up in an hour or so. We should see some sign of the Peep ships when they do," said Anny.

"Yes," agreed Leighton. "Hopefully, they will come out after us."

"That would be the ideal response for us, sir." Anny hesitated for a moment. "Sir, if your people can't disable the stations' weapons systems…"

"No need to say it, Commander," interrupted Leighton. "I don't expect you to make a suicide attack on an operational station, but…" Now it was Leighton's turn to hesitate. "But Commander," he continued, "I just want to thank you and your people for what you are doing. This wasn't your fight and you did not have to help us. But you did. We won't forget that."

"Thank you, sir," said Anny. She was touched. Words of praise or thanks from the Commodore had been very few during the time she had been dealing with him.

Leighton cleared his throat. "Well, I'll let you know as soon as we have any more information. Leighton out."

Anny sat in silence for a few moments and then turned to the Astrogator.

"Mister Brown, what is our ETA at the station?"

"Assuming we turn over as planned and make no changes, we should be at rest relative to the station in five hours and eighteen minutes, ma'am."

"All right. Mister Siganuk, you will alert the crew in one hour and send them to battlestations one hour after that."

"Yes, ma'am."

Anny stifled a sudden yawn. _Tester, I'm tired!_ In addition to spoiling her plans with Patric, the sudden crisis had robbed her of the eight hours sleep she had hoped to get. She found herself rubbing her eyes. _It's going to be a long day._

Anny sighed quietly to herself and returned her attention to the tactical display.

The fleet headed for Scalloway.

[Scene Break]

"What was that, Mister Hannover?" asked Citizen Captain Gerard LaSalle.

"Citizen Captain, I have a message from the destroyer _Cahors_, at Stronsay," repeated Citizen Lieutenant Paul Hannover, _Mars la Tours'_ communications officer. "They say that there is some sort of trouble on the asteroid."

"Trouble? What kind of trouble?"

"They aren't sure, Citizen Captain. They've lost contact with the main control center and they have reports of fighting."

"Fighting? You mean with the locals?"

"They didn't say. Citizen Captain, but I imagine that is what they meant."

"Well, ask them to clarify."

"Aye, aye."

LaSalle looked at the navigation display and frowned. They were still nearly an hour from the asteroid base, with over forty seconds lightspeed delay each way. Carrying out a conversation would be difficult. _What the hell is going on?_

Several minutes went by before there was a reply.

"They say there has been some sort of general uprising by the local population, Citizen Captain," reported Hannover. "They don't know the extent, but none of the usual control stations on the asteroid are responding. They are getting a lot of com traffic from our people, but all they can really tell from that is there is fighting and our people seem to be in trouble."

"Damn," muttered LaSalle. "Get me Citizen General Siebert on the com."

"Aye, aye, Citizen Captain."

"And when you've done that, send a signal to Captain Rocheway on the Station and see if he has any information." LaSalle sat back and waited. The orbital station was still over thirty light minutes away, so he might be doing a lot of waiting. After a few minutes General Benjamin Siebert was on the com.

"Citizen General, we seem to have a serious situation developing on Stronsay," began LaSalle.

"Yes, I know, Citizen Captain," replied the SS General. "I've been monitoring communications. The rebels seem to be attacking in strength. They have seized major parts of the station and our people are in need of immediate assistance. How soon can we give it to them?"

"We are still nearly an hour away, Citizen General. We could cut that by a few minutes if we stopped decelerating for a while and then brake more sharply, but I would recommend against it. In fact, I would recommend that we start braking more sharply right now to halt ourselves well short of the station."

"Why is that, Citizen Captain? I think time would be of the essence."

"It is, Citizen General, but I am very concerned about what we might be running into. That asteroid has powerful weapons systems mounted on it. If the rebels have managed to seize control of any of them, they could possibly get them operational—at least for short range fire under local targeting systems. I'm not so concerned about our warships, but your transports could be extremely vulnerable. I would strongly suggest you do not try a direct docking but bring your troops in by shuttle."

"I see," said the SS commander, and LaSalle could tell that he was pondering his words carefully. "Is there any news from Pierowall or the orbital station?"

"Not yet, Citizen General," answered LaSalle. "I just dispatched a message to the station but it will be over an hour before we can expect a reply. It is nearly as far to Pierowall."

"Yes, and it won't surprise me if there are other uprisings," said Siebert. "This is far too much of a coincidence, our arriving here and a few hours later a rebellion starting."

"I agree Citizen General," said LaSalle. "Our sensors have been picking up a large number of belter craft moving about as well. Several of them are shadowing our force and there seem to be others congregating around Stronsay."

"We may be facing a large conspiracy," said Citizen Commissioner Zaharus who was standing in his usual spot, to the right and just slightly behind LaSalle's command chair.

"Let's hope not, Citizen Commissioner," replied Siebert. "But we must be prepared for the worst. I will get my troops ready and have all the transports' small craft alerted. We could probably use the pinnaces from the warships as well. Other than that, I suppose we just have to wait until we get better information."

"I agree," said LaSalle. "I'll have the pinnaces made ready for your use."

"Good. I will be talking with you again shortly, Citizen Captain."

Siebert signed off and LaSalle gave the necessary orders concerning the small craft. He briefly toyed with the idea of going to battlestations, but that could wait a while longer. But what was happening? And what were they going to be facing? Just infantry fighting on the station itself, or were the belter ships going to get involved, too?

Minutes passed, but the situation did not get any clearer. There was a steady stream of reports from the ships around Stronsay, but they could only tell LaSalle that the situation on the asteroid seemed to be getting desperate. Some of their people had made it to boat bays or escape pods and gotten out to the ships, but all they could say was that the belters had weapons and were coming after any PRH personnel they could find. Any sort of coordination or central command on the asteroid had collapsed. Whether that was because the belters had cut power and communications lines or because the command personnel had already been wiped out, no one could tell.

Then more news arrived from one of the ships around Pierowall. It was the same story as at Stronsay: The belters were attacking the station personnel and seemed to have achieved complete surprise. It was too early to expect any reply from Captain Rocheway, but LaSalle was beginning to suspect he might not receive one at all. A few minutes later, General Siebert was back on the com.

"It is as we feared, Citizen Captain," he said. "Possibly a system-wide revolt. Probably long planned. Our arrival may have triggered it. No matter. What do you suggest? We have five troop transports, we could keep three here, send two to Pierowall."

LaSalle hesitated for a moment. "I don't think that is wise, Citizen General," he said carefully. "I'm very concerned that we have heard nothing from the orbital station. It is possible they will strike there, too."

"Then perhaps we should send another transport there as well—just as a precaution," said Siebert.

"Once again, I am concerned with the safety of your transports, Citizen General," said LaSalle. "If we split into three groups, I cannot provide an adequate escort for any of them. So far we have not seen any sign of belter war vessels, but we must assume they have them. They probably are not large or well armed, but in large numbers they could be a serious threat to the transports. I think, perhaps we should concentrate on the situation here and getting reinforcements to the orbital station. Once that is done, we can proceed to Pierowall."

"I can understand your concern, Citizen Captain," said Siebert. "But that means it could be many hours before we can help our people on Pierowall. I fear they may take heavy casualties or be wiped out entirely in that time. I'm afraid I must insist that we send at least some assistance there."

LaSalle had expected this to be the reply. He did not like it, but there was no real choice.

"Very well, Citizen General, perhaps we can…"

"Excuse me, Citizen Captain," broke in Lieutenant Hannover. "We have a priority signal from the destroyer _Sarthe_ at the orbital station. There are rebels there, too. Communications have been lost with much of the station and there are reports of heavy fighting. The marine base on the planet has also been attacked and it will be some time before they can get additional troops up to the station. They are requesting assistance and instructions."

LaSalle looked back to Siebert's image on the screen. "Did you hear, Citizen General?" Siebert nodded. "The orbital station is the key to this whole system. If the rebels seize it, it will be very bad. I am going to suggest that we leave three of your transports at Stronsay with one of our destroyers. The destroyer and frigate and the LACs already there should be a sufficient escort. I want to take the rest of my ships and two of your transports to reinforce the station. I'm afraid Pierowall will have to wait. Once we have Stronsay and the orbital base secure, we can send forces there. Is that acceptable?"

Citizen General Siebert looked thoughtful and briefly conferred with someone off the screen. Finally he turned back to LaSalle. "I believe you are correct, Citizen Captain. Splitting up to go to the rescue of all our people may be just what the rebels want. They may have an ambush set up at Pierowall in hopes that we will send ships there with too light an escort. We could risk defeat in detail—or at least unnecessary casualties. Very well, we will proceed with your plan."

"Citizen General, we must assume that Citizen Captain Rocheway is either dead or incommunicado. You are the ranking officer in the system in any case. I am going to need to give orders to the naval garrison forces, do I have your authority for that?"

"Certainly, Citizen Captain! That makes perfect sense. You put together your orders for the ships and in the meantime, I'll let them all know you will be in command."

"Thank you, Citizen General," said LaSalle, not entirely sure he wanted the responsibility. "Will you be coming with me to the orbital station or staying here at Stronsay?"

"I think I will stay here," said Seibert. "You will be in charge of the relief of the orbital station. I'll secure things here, and then we can rendezvous at Pierowall."

"Very good, Citizen General. I will put together my orders and talk to you again shortly."

Siebert signed off. LaSalle looked around the bridge at his officers. His gaze stopped on Citizen Commander Edward Kreiser. The man shook his head and then gave a lopsided smile.

"Well, Skipper, you told me the belters could probably put up more of a fight this time. They sure didn't waste any time proving it, did they?"

**Chapter Forty-Three**

"**A**ll right! Get ready! We are going to try it again!" shouted Wallace Williamson to his troops. He edged up to the turn in the corridor and quickly took a look around the corner and just as quickly pulled his head back. The passageway ahead was littered with bodies—the bodies of his people. He glanced back at what was left of his group—twenty, maybe twenty-five out of the fifty he started with. The giddy feeling he had when they passed out the marines' weapons to them was long gone.

The Peeps on Pierowall had been taken completely by surprise. Half of their people had been wiped out or captured in the first ten minutes by the strikes the Belters had planned for so long. Peeps were killed in ambushes. Peeps were killed as they ate. Peeps were killed in their bunks.

But the remainder were fighting back. In small groups and as individuals; without coordination or higher leadership, but they were fighting back. Fighting for their lives. And they were trained professionals. Williamson was learning the hardest sort of lesson in just what that meant—what the difference between a professional and an amateur was in this sort of business. That difference could be seen in the heap of mangled bodies in the next corridor.

Williamson's group was a second line strike team. They had been organized and trained as well as possible, but they had no weapons until the Peep armory was taken. They were supposed to back up one of the primary strike teams in the attack to take the Peep command center. That primary team had broken through the first and second line of defenses, but had been stopped cold at the final one.

_Not stopped cold, wiped out!_

It had fallen to Williamson's team to make the final push. They had tried. Twice.

"Jones! Douglas! Mason! When I give you the signal, toss those grenades! The rest of you will follow me!"

"Wally! What about the wounded?" cried one of his men. "If we use those grenades, it will kill everyone in that corridor!"

"Anyone in that corridor is already…" began Williamson and then stopped. His teammates were all friends, some were even related. And half of them—half the people he had spent years working with were lying dead a few meters away.

_Another difference. The professionals deal with this…somehow._

"We've got to get through to the control room!" he said instead.

"It's impossible!" said another. "They've got two tri-barrels down there and their behind cover! If we go around that corner we're all dead!"

"Damn it! We have to try!" insisted Williamson. He was irritated that his people kept questioning his orders, but he knew they were not real soldiers and he could not expect anything else. "Now we go on my signal!"

"Wally, wait!" shouted someone further to the rear. "Somebody's coming!"

Williamson looked in the direction indicated and saw that another party was moving in his direction. And there was…something…with them that made his heart leap.

"All right wait here,' he commanded. "And look sharp! Those Peeps might not just stay put!" He got up and headed back toward the newcomers. As he got closer, he recognized one of the people: Samuel Pearson, a leader of the Resistance on Pierowall. There were several other people with him who Williamson did not know, but he wasn't looking at them anyway. His eyes were glued to the huge green shape lumbering along behind them.

"Wally! What's the situation?" demanded Pearson.

"There's a Peep strongpoint just up that corridor, sir. Maybe twenty meters past the bend. Right in front of the entrance to the Command Center. We've hit it twice, but we can't get through."

"Where's Keating?"

"Dead, sir. Most of her force is dead. They took out the automated defenses, but there wasn't much left of them by then."

A look of pain flashed across Pearson's face for an instant, but then it was gone again.

"What are you up against now?"

"I think maybe a squad of Peep marines. I don't know how many for sure, but they are behind hard cover and have the corridor set up as a kill zone. We're going to need heavy support to get through, sir."

"Well, you've got it," said Pearson, motioning to the hulking suit of power armor standing behind him. "Caroline, I'm going to need you up front again."

"Right," said a voice from the speaker on the front of the suit. The suit took a step forward and turned to look at Williamson.

"Do the Peeps have any plasma weapons?" it asked. The speaker distorted the voice of the woman inside making it sound utterly menacing—a deliberate design feature?

"Uh, no, ma'am," said Williamson. "Not that we've observed. It looks like a pair of tri-barrels and the rest just pulse rifles—not that they need any more than that."

"All right. I'll lead the way. Give me a few seconds and then follow. I'll need your support. This get-up isn't invulnerable and I think I've pushed my luck too much as it is today."

Williamson took a good look at the armor for the first time and was startled by the large number of projectile scuffs. The paint was missing from a good deal of the front torso and there were some deep gouges in the armor itself. "Okay, ma'am, we'll be right behind you."

"Not that close," cautioned the woman. "Let me get down the corridor a bit, or the Peeps'll tear you up just shooting at me."

"Whatever you say, ma'am."

The woman in the power armor started toward the bend in the corridor. Williamson noticed that it was limping slightly and seemed to be leaking some sort of fluid from one of the legs. Wally's own people were gathering around, getting ready to move. The appearance of this unexpected—and utterly impressive—help had restored their confidence.

Before it reached the bend, the suit stopped.

"Someone give me a clip for my pulser, this one's nearly out," it demanded. Wally knew there was a woman inside, but he could not think of this thing as a "she".

The suit had a pulse rifle built into its right arm. Williamson knew that power armor often had other, much more powerful, weaponry built into it, but this suit seemed to have nothing but the pulser. Once the clips were changed, it was ready to go.

"All right, give me about ten seconds and then come a-running."

"Right, ma'am," answered Williamson.

The suit seemed to draw itself up and then it began to trot forward. It turned the corner and disappeared. There was an instant of silence and then a storm of small arms fire erupted. Pulser darts came zipping past the bend and exploded against the already pocked bulkhead. Williamson's people cringed slightly, but fortunately, the darts were so small that they produced virtually no shrapnel—they were designed to explode inside a person where shrapnel would just be overkill.

_Four…five…six, _counted Williamson in his head.

The firing grew more intense, but fewer darts were reaching the bulkhead now.

_Eight…nine…ten!_

"Come on!" shouted Wallace Williamson and then he started around the bend, crouching low and moving fast. He nearly stumbled over a body; did stumble over a part of a body, but managed to keep his feet despite the deck being slick with blood. He led his people toward the end of the corridor that minutes before had seemed impossibly out of reach.

The end of the corridor was a "T" intersection that the Peeps had barricaded. Standing at the junction of the "T" was the suit of power armor. It flickered like a fireworks display as hundreds of pulser darts exploded against it. But it was fighting back. It swung its right arm in an arc, spraying darts of its own against the unseen Peeps. The enemy fire from one side slackened noticeably.

Williamson was ten meters away. The suit started to turn back the other way when there was a flash and a shower of sparks and the suit staggered to the side. Five meters, and he could see that the right arm was hanging limply at its side, smoke pouring from it.

The suit bent down and he thought it was going to fall. Instead, it grabbed a heavy metal desk that was part of the barricade in its left fist. It straightened up and hurled the desk all in one motion and them leaped after it.

Williamson reached the corner of the intersection. He looked one way and saw a single Peep trying to pull a tri-barrel loose from the mangled remains of his squadmate. Wally raised his pulser and fired. The Peep tumbled backwards.

He quickly turned back the other way. The suit of power armor was towering there; its left fist rose and fell like a pile driver—it was stained crimson. Two Peeps cringed back from it, dropped their weapons and raised their hands. But a pair of Williamson's troops came to the corner just then, saw the enemy, and shot them down.

Williamson turned his head this way and that, looking for more Peeps, but he found none. None that were alive. He stood there trembling. He looked down the corridor he had just come up. The rest of his team was there amidst the bodies of their friends. He swallowed hard.

_Twenty meters of ordinary corridor. Utterly priceless now. Will they put up a memorial or something afterwards?_

The thought of the future snapped Williamson back to the present. He looked at the heavy metal door leading to the control center. They still had to get through that.

"Dunning! Bring up that cutting charge!" he shouted.

"C-coming!" stammered back a voice. In a few moments a young woman reached Williamson. She had obviously slipped coming up the corridor: there was blood on her hands and knees. Her face was the color of ashes.

"You okay, Sue?" asked Wally.

"Sure. Fine. Let me get this charge placed."

Williamson watched as the woman pulled a long coil of plastic tube out of a satchel at her side. She carefully started pressing it onto the edges of the door. He turned as the suit of power armor stepped up beside him.

"Are you all right, ma'am?" he asked.

"I'm fine," came back that awful voice. "This suit's about had it though. Once the charge goes off, I'll lead they way through, but I'm not sure how much fighting I can do once we are inside."

"Just get us in, ma'am, and we'll take it from there."

"Fair enough."

Williamson got his people together while Dunning was finishing her task. He almost had to drag a few of them away from the bodies of their friends. He looked at their faces.

"All right people. The power armor is going to lead the way again. When we get in there no unnecessary firing! We need those controls intact! And don't kill the Peeps unless they fight back. We need prisoners, too! The prisoners may be the only thing that keep the Peeps from nuking the lot of us later on. Understand?"

"Sure, Wally," muttered one of his team.

"Ready, Wally," said Dunning. She held a detonator in her hand. The power armor moved up near the door. The rest of them backed off a few meters and flattened against one bulkhead. The explosive was a directional charge and should only affect the door, but there was no point in taking chances.

"Okay, Sue, go ahead."

"Fire in the hole!" shouted Dunning and then she pressed the button.

There was a flash and a ringing explosion. Smoke filled the area around the door but quickly dissipated. Williamson took a look, but he could see that the door seemed to be intact…

Then the power armor moved. It rammed its left shoulder against the door, which fell inward with a terrible screech of tearing metal. The suit stepped through. There was the whine of several pulsers being fired and the sharp crack of darts exploding against armor. But then the firing stopped and silence followed.

"Come on in," came the voice of the power armor. "They've given up."

Williamson carefully went through the opening. There were a dozen Peep naval officers at the far end of the compartment. They all had their hands in the air. He kept a sharp eye on his own people as they followed him in. None of them looked happy, but none of them seemed inclined to slaughter the prisoners.

Then he looked at the control consoles. They were dead. Every one of them was dark. The main display was blank. The Peeps had purged their computers.

It was not unexpected. They had hoped that they could take the control center before the Peeps could do this, but they knew the odds were against them. They had been able to cut the communications lines from the center immediately, to prevent any sabotage of the other systems or the missile magazines. But the central control was dead and until they could get it back up again, Pierowall's defenses were crippled.

"All right, secure those prisoners and get the techs up here," ordered Williamson. "We've still got a lot of work to do."

[Scene Break]

"Squad leaders, sound off!" came the command. Citizen Corporal Henri Aboud, of the People's Republic of Haven's State Security Regiment 459, huddled in the cramped troop shuttle and waited as the first three squads reported.

"Fourth squad ready!" he shouted when it was his turn. Eventually the rest of the company was finished and a not-quite-silence returned. There was a low muttering coming over the com system in his vac helmet. He twisted around slightly to check on the eight other people in his squad. He could barely move because they had squeezed a full company into a shuttle meant for less than half that number. He made a visual check of his people and then faced front again.

Aboud was excited and a little scared. He had been disappointed when they were told they would be heading off to some backwater system to make sure the locals stayed in line. He had joined the SS straight out of school and was eager to crush the enemies of the Republic. It did not seem likely that they would find many enemies to crush in boring garrison duty. Some of his squadmates did not seem to mind. They seemed more interested in the 'recreational opportunities' offered by the system. Aboud couldn't understand them. Hadn't they paid attention in school? Didn't they realize the survival of the Republic and the noble ideals it represented were at stake? Henri knew that he had more zeal than a lot of the troops and that was why he had made corporal so quickly, but sometimes the attitude of the others irritated him.

He pushed those thoughts out of his mind. They were going into combat! They had not even gotten to their destination and the traitorous locals had risen in revolt! They were murdering the old garrison and it was up to the SS to save the day. Henri checked his pulse rifle for about the twentieth time. He was a good shot. He hoped he'd have a chance to prove it soon.

"All right, lissen up!" came his platoon sergeant's voice over the com. "In about two minutes we'll be docking at Stronsay Base. The docking bay is secure, but don't assume anywhere else we go is! These bastards are all over that rock and they know every centimeter of it. When the airlock opens, get out fast! They need this shuttle back at the ships for the next load. Just follow along and keep tight!"

The sergeant had barely finished when there was a slight jolt. A few moments of anticipation passed and then the airlock hatch opened. The troops nearest it began to file out, urged along by their NCOs. It was several seconds before the people in front of Aboud got out of the way, but they eventually did and he waved his squad forward. Once through the lock, the column of troops was stretched out and they had to run to catch up. Henri only got a glimpse of a cluster of wounded waiting to get on the shuttle he had just left.

They hurried down a seemingly endless series of corridors. They might have been aboard any ordinary ship or station, except that many of the corridor walls were naked rock. It gave a very strange feeling to the place. Soon Henri had lost all sense of direction.

Finally, the column stopped and Henri thought he could hear firing faintly in the distance. The external microphones on his helmet could do weird things though, and he wasn't sure what direction it was coming from. After standing for a while, they moved forward again until they reached a large compartment. There was an aid station there and a number of SS people were being treated by medics. Off to one side was a pile of bodies wearing the uniform of the People's Navy. Aboud swore under his breath.

An SS officer came back from what to Henri seemed the direction of the 'front' and started giving orders to the sergeants. After a few moments his platoon sergeant passed orders along to the squads.

"Aboud! Take your people down that corridor fifty meters and set up a barricade. Keep your eyes open, those damn traitors are all over the place."

"Yes, Citizen Sergeant," answered Henri. He waved his squad to follow and headed down the passage the sergeant had indicated. He came to an intersection and decided that this was a good spot. He could see down the only two approaches and still see back to the big compartment they had just left. He posted two troopers to watch the approaches and set the rest to look for materials to form a barricade.

There were several storage rooms along the passage and they dragged out crates and barrels and set them up to provide cover. They were sturdy enough to stop pulser fire and that should be enough. Henri did not know what was going on, but he was a little concerned that they were digging in like this. Weren't they supposed to be attacking?

Once they had the barricade complete, Aboud set his people in place and then they waited. The sergeant came by and approved of his disposition. Henri was pleased with that, but unhappy with the way the sergeant snapped at him when he asked if he had any information. He started to get an unpleasant feeling in the pit of his stomach. They had thirty thousand troops with them. The elite of the People's Republic. They ought to be able to sweep a bunch of rabble out of the way with ease. Still, orders were orders. Maybe they were just holding here so the main attack could go in somewhere else…

The floor quivered slightly and there was a distant explosion. It had a sound and feel that told you it had been large. His people looked around nervously. There was the sound of firing. It seemed to be coming from back towards the large compartment, but it was hard to tell. The deck quivered again.

Then Henri's stomach did a flip-flop and he found himself drifting toward the ceiling.

"Wha!?" cried one of his troopers. "The grav's off!"

"The bastards switched off the grav plates!"

Aboud put up a hand and grabbed at the ceiling but only succeeded in pushing himself back toward the floor. He had had basic zero-G training, but that was many months ago. They had been told they would get more training once they arrived, but obviously that had not happened yet.

"Calm down everyone," He shouted. "Remember your training! Pull yourselves down by the barricade…"

Henri stopped in mid sentence when he saw that the items they had laboriously dragged to form the barricade were slowly drifting away. By this time he had lost all sense of up and down. He was just in a space that went off in different directions. He was still trying to decide what to do when the firing started again.

It was not off in the distance, it was just down the corridor—back in the big compartment. Firing, heavy firing. Pulsers and tri-barrels and what he recognized as plasma weapons.

_Hell! W e don't even have any plasma weaponry! The rebels must have gotten them off the marines!_

They had been told they would have heavy weapons given to them along with training—just like the zero-G training: after they got here.

But now it was too late.

Aboud looked back 'down' the corridor. He could see plasma bolts streak past the opening to the corridor. There were shouts and screams as well as gunfire.

Should he go back and try to help? He started to push himself in that direction when he saw that a cluster of people were coming toward him, bouncing off the walls as they tried to scramble along. Some of them tried to fire back in the direction they had come from. The modest recoils of their pulsers sent them spinning.

"What's happening?" he shouted as the closest figures neared.

"Rebels! All over the place! They're comin' out of the ceiling and the floor! Get out of the way!"

The man tried to push past him but only succeeded in thumping each of them into opposite walls—or was that the floor and ceiling? More people came past him. They looked terrified. Aboud started to feel that way, too. What should he do?

"Citizen Sergeant Haines! Come in please!" he called into his com. All he got back was a cacophony of noise.

Then fire started coming down his corridor. Only a few pulser darts that hit no one. But the sharp crack as they exploded shocked him into action.

"Get around the turn in the corridor! Take some cover!"

He was proud that his squad did what he told them and did not keep fleeing like the others. He pulled himself around the turn with them and peered back. The firing had died down a bit.

"Now what do we do, Corp?" asked one of him troops. "They're between us and the others! We can't go back the way we came."

"Just stay put!" he snapped. "I'm sure the captain will put together a counterattack and we can link up again."

"Like hell!" said another. "We've got to get back to the docking bay before they surround us!"

"Shut up, Brewbaker! We'll stay here until we get orders…"

There was a new burst of firing. Not from the compartment, but from one of the other corridors. Henri turned just in time to see the batch of other troops who had fled past them be torn to shreds by a storm of pulser and tri-barrel fire.

The bodies did not fall, they just came tumbling back—some nearly whole, others merely fragments—in a cloud of blood.

"Behind us!" shouted someone. A few of his troopers started firing in that direction, heedless of what their shots might do to any of their comrades who might still be alive in that mess. More fire came in their direction, but with all the bodies and the materials from their barricade floating around nothing much reached them.

Aboud looked around frantically. They couldn't stay here. Except for the floating objects, there was no cover. They couldn't head back to the main compartment. The only thing to do was head down the other corridor—which led who knew where.

"This way!" he shouted and pointed. He didn't need to say it twice. His people started hauling themselves along as fast as they could. There wasn't much to hang on to but they managed to reach another intersection without anyone being hit.

It was a "T" intersection and he could go right or left. He went around the corner to the right, following his squad, but came up short when he saw them clustered in front of a closed pressure door.

"It's sealed!" said one of them. "We can't get through!"

Aboud looked the door over. It was heavily constructed. Far too heavily for the fragmentation grenades which were their only explosives. He was looking to see if there was any other way to get it open when another one of his squad shouted.

"Corporal! They're coming up the corridor after us!"

Henri looked and saw Citizen Private Darryl Robinson peering around the corner they had just passed. Robinson raised his pulse rifle and fired. It gave off an angry snarl and there was a firecracker series of pops in the distance. But Robinson had not anchored himself in any fashion and the recoil of the pulser pushed him away from the wall. He grabbed for it but only succeeded in changing his direction of drift—out into the open.

"Darryl!" cried Henri as he reached for him.

But before he could grab him, a volley of pulser darts slammed into the hapless private and exploded. Robinson was wearing body armor, like the rest of them, and this protected his torso, but a pulser dart exploding in an arm or leg would usually sever the limb and this is just what happened now. There were a series of muffled explosions, mingled with the sharper crack of the darts that hit the rock wall behind him and then a horrible scream. Henri looked on helplessly as his squadmate tumbled backwards in a half-dozen pieces. A cloud of dark red globules flew about amid the tattered remains of Citizen Private Darryl Robinson.

The impact tossed him back against the wall and then he bounced toward the enemy again. He was still alive and he feebly waved the stumps of an arm and a leg. And he screamed. But only for a moment. Then there was a dazzling flash of light and what was left of Darryl exploded in a flash of steam as a plasma bolt hit him squarely.

The explosion drove them all back against the closed pressure door and they had to scramble to keep from bouncing back out into that deadly field of fire that had claimed their comrade.

"Oh my God!" moaned someone.

Henri was sickened by what just happened. They didn't tell you about things like this in Basic! And the way Darryl's remains kept floating around instead of falling in an innocuous heap like they were supposed to…

But after swallowing the bile in his throat, Henri Aboud found himself shaking—not with fear, but with anger. _The bastards! The traitorous bastards!_ He hauled himself over to the corner and found a handhold. Securely anchoring himself, he stuck his pulse rifle around the corner and held the trigger down. His weapon jerked slightly in his hand, but he held on and swept it back and forth, up and down.

He could hear the darts exploding in the distance and he drew back his lips in a snarl when he heard someone cry out. After a few moments he had emptied his magazine. He twisted around to look at his squad and held out the rifle.

"Brewbaker! Give me your weapon and reload this one!" he commanded. In an instant the switch was made and Aboud swung back to continue spraying the corridor. Twice more he made the switch of weapons and then he ceased firing. He was just about to risk a peek around the corner when a dazzling light flashed by him.

The plasma bolt did not hit him, nor had it been intended to. Instead it hit the rock wall at the intersection. A normal metal bulkhead would have mostly melted, perhaps sending off a few fragments, but the rock of the asteroid behaved somewhat differently. There was a loud explosion as half a cubic meter of rock was blasted into fragments.

"Ow!" cried Henri as he was slammed against the wall. Something had hit his armor a heavy blow, but it was the searing pain in his upper arm that had his full attention. He bounced back, his borrowed pulser slipped out of his grasp and went tumbling away. Fortunately, he did not drift out into the open.

He stared stupidly at the round drops of blood dribbling away from the tear in his arm. It hurt like hell. Someone grabbed his leg and hauled him over by the pressure door with the others.

"Let me get a bandage on that Henri," said Patti Borland. She pulled out her first aid kit, but before she could do anything else, another plasma bolt crashed into the wall and everyone flinched back as another shower of fragments bounced off the walls. Then pulsers and maybe a tri-barrel opened up. The rebels did not use explosive darts this time. The solid darts would ricochet while the explosive ones did not. Darts started skipping and whizzing all over.

Henri and his squad squeezed themselves as tightly against the pressure door as they could, but it was remarkably difficult to do without gravity.

"Shit! We haven't got a chance! They're gonna murder us all!" cried Brewbaker.

Something hit Henri a solid thump in his armor but did not penetrate. Several grunts and groans from other people told him he was not the only one. Finally, the fusillade stopped.

"Is everyone all right?" asked Aboud.

"Got a nick in the leg, but it's nothing," said Borland. "Here, let me get this bandage on your arm."

Henri watched as she peeled the backing off the bandage, exposing the med-gel and then pressed it firmly against his arm. He winced, but he knew the med-gel would stop the bleeding and dull the pain very quickly.

"Thanks, Patti," he said.

"So what are we gonna do, Corp?" It was Brewbaker who had asked, but the same question was on every face. Before he could think of an answer, they heard someone shouting.

"Hey, Peeps! You're trapped! Throw out your guns and give up and we won't shoot!"

"Like hell," muttered one of Henri's troopers.

"What else can we do?"

Aboud had no intention of surrendering, but the inkling of a plan took root in his brain. The corridor went off in the opposite direction from the pressure door, but they had to cross the open intersection first. He reached out and snagged poor Darryl's pulse rifle which was still drifting about.

"All right," he said. "I'm going to tell them we agree and then toss out this rifle. While they are distracted, we will all push off and get past the intersection. Once we are on the other side, we can get out of here."

"Are you crazy?" demanded Brewbaker. "We'll never make it across there!"

"Shut up," said Borland. "Stay behind and surrender if that's what you want."

"We're all going," said Henri. "Now get ready."

"Last chance, Peeps!" shouted the voice again.

"Don't shoot! We're coming out!" shouted Aboud back at him.

"Throw out your weapons first!"

"Okay!"

Henri looked around. All his people were crouched against the pressure door, ready to push off. He slung his own pulse rifle and got into a similar position. Then he tossed Darryl's rifle. He aimed so it would hit the opposite wall of the corridor the rebels were in and his throw was a good one. It bounced off the one wall and caromed back and forth across the corridor.

"Go!" hissed Henri, and pushed off with all his might. The others were right with him and they flew like a flock of frightened birds through the zero gravity. The deadly opening flashed by on his left like the maw of Death itself, but he reached the other side unharmed. He heard a distant shout and then the sound of firing. There was the crack and ping of pulser darts hitting something behind him…

And then there was a scream.

Aboud twisted around and saw Citizen Private Brewbaker tumbling after him, spouting blood from a dozen wounds. He had hesitated and pushed off too late—just late enough for the rebels to nail him. They were still using the non-explosive rounds and they had gone through his armor like a graser through vacuum. Henri grabbed at the wall to slow himself down and Brewbaker floated past him—obviously very dead.

Henri looked after his, still receding, squad.

"Keep going! I'm going to slow them down a bit and I'll catch up!" he said, urgently. Then he pulled himself back toward the other passage. He took out a grenade and set the fuse for five seconds. Anchoring himself, he slung the grenade around the corner sidearm and then turned and fled.

He hauled himself along as fast as he could, counting seconds in his head. He had reached 'ten' and decided the grenade was defective, when it went off. It was a bit disappointing as explosions went, but a very satisfying scream followed it and he smiled a grim smile.

Aboud reached the next corner and went around it. He almost bumped into Patti Borland. She seemed very agitated—and she was alone.

"Where are the others?' asked Aboud. "We have to keep moving."

"They…they're gone. They wouldn't wait for you. I tried to stop them, but they just kept on going."

"Which way?"

"That way," said Borland, pointing to one of the four corridors that met here. Henri did not think that was the right direction to reach friendly lines, but he was so turned around he could not be sure. But then a new thought came to him: his squad had left him—deserted! Well, not exactly, he _had_ told them to keep going, but he did not mean forever!

He suddenly felt very isolated. As long as he had his squad to look after, he managed to keep his own fears under control, but now… He looked this way and that. Every passageway could be a trap. Each compartment could be holding enemies. Panic surged up in him and he had to try hard to fight it off.

"What do we do now, Henri?" asked Borland.

He stared at his remaining squadmate and forced himself to calm down. "Well, we sure can't fight all those damn rebels by ourselves," he said. "We have to get back to our own lines—wherever the hell they are." Then he noticed the small spheres of blood drifting nearby and he looked at Borland's leg. The trouser leg was stained in a large patch.

"Are you all right? You said it was just a nick."

"It's not too bad, but I think there's a spent dart in there," admitted Borland.

"Well, let's move on a bit and then we can stop and get a bandage on it. I don't know how long the rebels will wait before they come after us again."

"I'm all for that," said Borland. "Let's move."

The next hour seemed like a year. They went down one corridor after another. They met no one, but they kept hearing noises. They would spin around but they saw nothing. Their fears grew and grew and it was only the presence of each other that kept them from giving in completely to panic. Eventually they came to an area where the grav plates were working, and Patti found that she could barely walk on her injured leg. But shortly after that, they encountered an SS patrol and were directed back to a docking bay. It looked like the one they had first arrived at, but it might have been another entirely.

A new shuttle of troops was unloading and Henri stared at the fresh, eager troopers hustling past him—just as he had done a lifetime ago. He and Patti shuffled over to an aid station and waited their turn. Many of the wounded were in much worse shape than they and they did not mind waiting.

Just as the medic got to them, an officer walked up. He had the collar tabs of a battalion ideology officer.

"Medic! I don't want any malingerers here! What's the matter with these two?" he was pointing at Aboud and Borland.

"Uh, This one has shrapnel in his shoulder, Citizen Lieutenant," answered the startled medic. "And this one has a pulser dart in her leg."

The officer frowned at them and grunted. But then after a look at the other wounded, he turned away and walked over to another group on the other side of the docking bay. There was a squad of MPs with about a dozen troopers in their midst. Another officer was standing there and the one who had accosted them gave him a salute. Henri could not hear what was being said, but after a few moments the senior officer motioned to one of the troopers. The man shouted something and tried to back away, but two MPs grabbed him. The Lieutenant drew his pistol and shot the man dead as he stood there.

Aboud and Borland just looked on—stunned into silence—as the MPs prodded the other troops to pick up their gear and then they were herded towards the front. The body of their comrade was left lying on the deck.

"My God," whispered Patti Borland. "I wonder where the rest of the squad is?"

Citizen Corporal Henri Aboud of State Security Regiment 459 shook his head. _What's going on? It's not supposed to happen this way!_

[Scene Break]

"How bad?" asked Sharon Stevenson.

"Bad enough," replied Douglas Appleman.

"How long to repair it?"

"I don't know."

"I need a better answer than that, Doug!" exclaimed Stevenson. "The Commodore won't be here for another three hours yet and this is the only thing that can keep the Peeps off our backs!"

"Don't you think I know that?" snapped back Appleman. "We'll do what we can, but no one was expecting this!"

Stevenson took a deep breath and forced herself to remain calm. She looked around the compartment and understood what Appleman was saying. She was standing in the control room for the orbital station's spherical sidewall generator. Seizing it had been an essential part of The Plan. When the Resistance went into action, they had to capture the main control center, the fusion plant, the marine barracks and the sidewall generator. They had managed to do all of those things. It had cost them, but they had done it and the Peeps had paid a far stiffer price.

_But on this station they can afford it and we can't! And now this!_

On the asteroid bases, there were plenty of willing hands to take up captured weapons and use them against the Peeps. But here, there were only a few who could be trusted. They had killed hundreds of Peeps in the first few minutes. Decimated them and decimated them again. But there were still plenty left. Scattered and disorganized, but starting to fight back. And the Peeps had reinforcements at hand, on the planet. The only help for the Resistance here was Commodore Leighton's relief fleet.

The sidewall generator was the key to holding out until the Commodore arrived. They could keep the sidewall bubble up and nothing could get at them. Not the Peep marines stationed on the planet, and even the weapons of the two Peep warships would have been nearly useless.

But it was the sidewall generator that was useless.

They had expected the Peeps to try and purge the computers, and they had done so in the Control Center. The Resistance struck as fast and as hard as it could to get through and capture the vital spots before the Peeps could do that, but they had prepared for the worst.

Or they thought they had.

They had replacement computers and software ready to put in place to get the generator up and running. The Control Center would take longer, but it was the generator that was critical.

Stevenson stared at the half dozen control consoles in the room. Then she stared at the two Peep officers lying dead in a corner. They still had their pulse pistols in their hands.

_Two damn pistols and those bastards have probably killed us all!_

The Peeps had not bothered to purge their controls, they had shot them to bits. All six consoles had been riddled with pulser darts. The computers were wrecked, of course, but the consoles themselves had also been badly damaged. Control panels shattered, wiring severed, God knew what other damage they had done. And there was no way to fix them quickly.

_We should have expected this, but we didn't. We figured if we took out the top officers, none of the underlings would take the initiative to do something like this. But we were wrong!_ She looked again at the dead bodies. _Your bloody masters ought to give you medals for this, Peeps—not that they'll ever know._

"There's no way you can just switch it on?" It was a stupid question and she knew it. Appleman just shook his head.

"Well, do your best, Doug. I don't want to make you nervous or anything, but all our lives depend on it."

"Thanks, Sharon, I needed that," said Appleman with a sour grin. Then he turned and joined his technicians in tearing the consoles apart.

Stevenson was still staring at the mess when her communicator beeped.

"Stevenson, here."

"Chief, we have a signal from dirtside," came a voice. "The first marine pinnace just lifted off. ETA is about thirty minutes."

"Damn. Okay, get a message out to the Commodore and tell him the sidewall generator is out and we need help as soon as possible."

"I'll try, Chief, but the Peeps have started jamming. Communications are deteriorating."

Stevenson cursed under her breath. But it probably made no difference, the fleet couldn't get here any faster anyway. Damn! If the Peep convoy's arrival had not forced them to act early, the fleet would have been in motion before the Resistance made its first strike. They would nearly be here instead of being still three hours away.

Three hours.

And the Peep marines would be here in thirty minutes. Marines with weapons and training and an intact chain of command. Marines ready to fight. Marines with power armor.

How long could they hold out against that?

"Charlie," she said into her com. "Get Laura to send some people to man as many weapons stations as she can. She has permission to fire on any ship trying to dock. And once she opens up, try and hit those warships, too."

"You sure about that, Chief? Once we fire, you can bet they'll start taking out the weapons positions with energy fire of their own-and there's no way to stop 'em."

"I know, Charlie, I know. But if those marines get aboard in strength, it's all over anyway."

"Right, Chief," came a slow reply. "I'll get on it."

"Oh, and Charlie, get hold of Mister Finn and tell him to make sure his bomb is ready—we may need it."

**Chapter Forty-Four**

"**A** battleship? You're sure?" asked Andreanne Payne in a stunned voice.

"Not entirely sure, Commander," replied Commodore Perry Leighton, grimly. "But it's too damn big to be anything else we can think of."

"Can we get a copy of the sensor readings? Maybe we can identify it."

"Certainly, I'll transfer them immediately."

Anny motioned to Lieutenant Pickering to analyze what the Commodore was sending and then turned her attention back to the monitor.

"What other information do you have, sir?"

"Things seem to be going very well on Pierowall. We have seized most of our objectives and should have the rest of the station secure in a few hours. The Peep ships there have not done anything yet and once we can get the weapons on-line, we should be able to drive them away from the vicinity. Some of our ships are making threatening gestures to distract them, too.

"It's a lot harder going on Stronsay. The Peep reinforcements are coming aboard and there is severe fighting. I doubt they can hold out without some help."

"What about the orbital station, sir?"

"Our information is sketchy," said Leighton. "Early reports seemed good, but the Peeps have started jamming and we don't know much more now. We'll just have to get there as quickly as we can."

"Ma'am?" said Lieutenant Pickering. "I've run the sensor readings through our database and I've got a match—although I'm not sure I believe it."

"What do you have, Lieutenant?" asked Anny.

"Well, ma'am, according to these readings, we have a _'Louis Napoleon'_ class battleship coming at us."

Anny frowned; she was not familiar with that class. Was it something new?

"I'd never heard of it either, Skipper," said Pickering, seeing the expression on her face. "I'll put up the specs on the monitor—notice the construction date, ma'am."

Anny looked over the data that had appeared. Her eyes were drawn to the date Pickering had noted.

"1770 P.D.!" she exclaimed in astonishment. "That's nearly a hundred and fifty years ago! Are you sure about this, Mister Pickering?"

"The readings are right on the money, Skipper, right down to the drive signature. Mass, length, they all match."

"Tester! I knew the Peeps were getting stretched thin, but really!"

"Commander," said Terrence Daley from the TAC station. "We have to assume the ship has been extensively modernized—and it still out-masses us better than ten to one."

"They may have upgraded the weapons and electronics, Lieutenant," said Pickering, "But it's got its original drive. These reading are exact and I doubt anyone even makes a drive like that anymore."

"Even so, it's more than a match for us," insisted Daley.

Anny looked at the specs and had to agree. Thirty missile tubes a side. Eighteen lasers. Large magazines. _The armor is damn thin for a ship that size._ _And they must have replaced those autocannons with laser clusters! _But then she shook her head. They had no idea what sort of refit the Peeps might have done. The weapons types and mix could be completely different now. She turned back to Leighton.

"It's confirmed, sir," she said. "It's a battleship. A very old battleship, but still a battleship. And you say she's headed for the orbital station with a light cruiser, a destroyer and two frigates?"

"Yes, and two of the transports. They are only pulling a little over two hundred gravities, which puts them over seven hours from the station at this point. We can be there in three."

"They have probably picked us up on their sensors by now, sir. The warships might increase their speed once they know we are coming."

"Yes, they might," admitted Leighton. "But I don't see that we have any option but to continue. With the station to back us up, we can still take them."

Anny nodded, but she felt no confidence in what Leighton was saying. They had no confirmation yet that the station's weapons and defenses had even been taken away from the Peeps yet, to say nothing of getting them ready to use against the Peeps.

"Perhaps I should take _Coeur de Lion_ ahead and try to get to the station sooner, sir," suggested Anny. "We could get there almost an hour ahead of the rest of the fleet."

"You'd have to give away our little surprise to do that, Commander. I think I'd like to keep that up our sleeve—and keep the fleet together."

"Yes, sir." Anny was not sure she agreed, but she did not argue. They had no ground troops to bring to the station anyway—those were being carried in the other ships.

"Very well, then, Commander," said Leighton. "We shall continue on course. If I get any more information, I'll pass it along. Leighton out."

Anny stared at the blank screen for a few moments and then turned to Lieutenant Terrence Daley.

"So what do you think, Lieutenant?"

"Well, ma'am, it still all depends on getting that station operational. Even without the battleship, we'd have our hands full taking on a light cruiser, two destroyers and three frigates by ourselves."

"No, you are right," said Anny, nodding her head. "Of course, we won't be by ourselves—we'll have the Belters, too."

"For what they're worth," said Daley, quietly.

"We can still do our part of the job," said Anny, not quite sure who she was trying to convince. "We'll get to the station well before those other Peeps and we can certainly destroy or drive off the two ships that are there. If we can't get the station operational, we should still have time to get out before that battleship arrives."

"Assuming the station doesn't blow us to bits when we first get there," said Philip VanVeen.

[Scene Break]

"Incoming message from Citizen Commander Deluce of the destroyer _Sarthe_, Citizen Captain," said _Mars la Tour's_ communications officer.

"Put it on the viewer," said Gerard LaSalle. A moment later, he was looking at the skipper of the destroyer that was standing by the orbital station.

"Citizen Captain LaSalle, I have received Citizen General Siebert's order placing you in command of the naval forces in this system," she said. "I wanted to inform you that we have detected a large number of rebel craft headed in our direction. They are currently about eight light minutes away. We can expect them to do their turn over to decelerate for an apparent rendezvous at this location very shortly—assuming that is what they intend. We are counting over one hundred vessels of varying size and mass. They will enter missile range in less than three hours.

"I require instructions. _Sarthe_ and _Chasseur _could go out to intercept. I have no doubt that the two of us could handle them. But that would leave the station with no naval protection. We have word that the rebels have seized most of the control and engineering facilities on the station, but marines from dirtside should be arriving shortly. Please advise me on what you want us to do. Deluce, out."

LaSalle leaned back in his chair and scratched at his chin. He called up the tactical display and studied the new contacts. His own ships were now twenty light minutes from the station and ten from the asteroid Stronsay. In addition to this message from Citizen Commander Deluce, he had received several messages from Citizen General Siebert. The first said that the fighting on the asteroid was heavy, but going satisfactorily. Then he said that he had changed his mind from earlier and was sending one transport to Pierowall with a destroyer for escort. A few minutes later came another message. The rebels were launching a serious counter attack. They had turned off the grav plates and Siebert's troops were being pushed back with heavy casualties. Siebert was recalling the transport and destroyer.

_What's the old saying? 'Order, counter-order, disorder'._

"The rebels must be pretty confident if they think their little ships can take on a destroyer and a frigate, Skipper," said Edward Kreiser from his tactical station. "Let alone all of us."

"They might not know about us yet. All I can think is they are hoping to get the station's weapons operational. And unfortunately that is a real threat."

"So what are you going to do?"

"I don't like the idea of sending those ships out to meet the rebels. It might possibly be a feint to draw them off. Let's see, if we were to send off _Limoges_ and _Oyannax_ with one of the frigates at maximum acceleration, they would get there about an hour after the rebels. We could continue to escort the transports and get there later. A light cruiser, two destroyers and two frigates should be plenty to deal with the rebels. The problem is that if the rebels get that station up and running, they could trash all those ships without working up a sweat."

"Citizen Captain," said People's Commissioner Zaharus. "The longer it takes help to arrive at the station, the more likely that is to happen, is it not?"

LaSalle looked at his watchdog and his eyebrows raised slightly. He did not like the little man, but this time he was probably right.

"Yes, time is of the essence. Mister Hannover, get a message off to _Limoges_, _Oyannax_ and _Tiralleur_. Tell them to proceed to the station at their best speed and assist the garrison. Then inform Citizen General Siebert and Citizen Commander Deluce what we are doing."

"Aye aye, Citizen Captain."

The communications officer had barely finished sending the messages when there was another incoming message from Commander Deluce.

"Citizen Captain LaSalle, a few minutes ago a laser cluster on the station opened fire and destroyed a marine pinnace that was attempting to dock. A moment later one of the main lasers fired on _Chasseur_. Fortunately, they took it on their wedge and suffered no damage. I've ordered the other marine pinnaces to stay clear, but they are urgently needed on the station. The only option I can see is for us to fire on the station and destroy the weapons mounts. The sidewall is not up yet, so we can do that fairly easily and with minimum damage to the rest of the installation. I want your permission to proceed. If the rebels can get more weapons operational—especially the missile launchers-we may have to move out of range. Please respond immediately. Deluce out."

There was a moment of silence on the bridge that was broken by Edward Kreiser. "Well, that's a fine kettle of fish."

"You have a talent for understatement, Citizen Commander," growled LaSalle. "Damn, with the time lag that happened almost twenty minutes ago. Another twenty to get our reply. A lot can happen in forty minutes!"

"Are you going to consult with Siebert, Skipper?" asked Kreiser.

"There's no time. A ten minute com-delay each way back to Stronsay, there's just no time," said LaSalle. It was true, there was no time, but did he have the authority to order this? Then a thought struck him and he suppressed a nasty grin. _I have to share my authority with him—why not share the responsibility?_ He turned to Zaharus.

"Citizen Commissioner, I believe it is imperative to give Citizen Commander Deluce permission to fire on the station. I'm not sure that my authority extends that far, however, and there is no time to confer with Citizen General Siebert . Do you concur with my decision?"

Zaharus was clearly surprised by the question. Then his expression grew darker: it was obvious he knew exactly what LaSalle was doing. But there was no way he could dodge the question.

"If you believe it is essential, Citizen Captain, you have my agreement," he said.

_Clever, Citizen Commissioner, you still leave it to my judgment! Oh well, I suppose that is the best I'm going to get._

"Thank you. Mister Hannover, get a message off to Commander Deluce. Give her permission to open fire."

"Right away, Citizen Captain."

LaSalle turned back to the tactical display. If the rebels got the sidewalls up on that station, he was going to have to call off all his ships. He did not like it, but he could take very heavy losses trying to take out that station with the forces at hand. It would be better to concede the station and secure the two asteroids for the time being. When the second convoy arrived, they would then have enough firepower to take the station.

And best of all, the decision would be in the hands of Citizen Commodore LeClerque instead of Citizen Captain LaSalle's.

_Of course, if they can't get the sidewalls up, we can knock out enough weapons to allow the marines to get aboard and retake the place. _

LaSalle's eyes were drawn back to the red icon of the approaching rebel ships. Why did they seem so confident? Or is it just desperation on their part?

_Or am I overlooking something important?_

[Scene Break]

The station shook again and Sharon Stevenson swore under her breath. The Peeps were picking off the station's weapons one by one. They had managed to destroy the first marine pinnace, but that was all. The Peep destroyer and frigate were too agile to be hit with weapons under manual control. They would keep their wedges pointed at the station until they were ready and then quickly roll, take their shot, and keep right on rolling to interpose the other side of the wedge. They knew exactly where the weapons were located and they could hardly miss. The sidewall generator was still down and the station had no armor to speak of. They were losing the weapons and the people to man them_._

And Leighton was still an hour away.

Her com beeped._ Now what?_

"Stevenson here."

"Chief, they've carved out a blind spot on the spinward side. No weapons at all to cover it. I've got a report that the marine pinnaces are coming in to dock at bay Cee-twenty-two. They'll be here any minute."

"Damn! Well, send whatever people you've got available to seal off that area. And pull out all the gun crews and send them there, too. They're not doing us any good at the weapons now anyway."

"Right, Chief," came the voice of her assistant. How he could still sound so unruffled was beyond her.

Stevenson keyed in another code on her communicator.

"Appleman, what is it?" came a reply after a few seconds.

"Doug, it's Sharon. The Peeps are about to dock. Is there any chance on the generator?"

"Not a prayer," came back his harried voice. "The controls are all stripped down. It will be hours yet. Can you hold them that long?"

"A hundred half-trained people in shirt-sleeves with small arms against whole companies of marines in armor? What do you think?"

"Hell, we were so close."

"Yeah."

"Well, Leighton will be here in an hour—and maybe we'll get a miracle. We're about due for one. Have your people ready to make a run for the escape pods. I'll keep you informed."

"Right."

Stevenson cut the connection and then called up another code.

"Chin? Get the non-combatants to the shuttles and escape pods. The Peeps are here and I don't think we can hold them long."

"Are you sure, Sharon? What if the Peeps start blasting the small craft? All those people could be killed!"

"We talked about this, and there's no choice. If they don't get off and we have to blow this place, they'll all be killed for sure."

There was a long pause.

"Chin, did you hear me?"

"I heard you. Okay, I'll start the evacuation."

"Good."

She tapped in yet another code.

"Finn here, go ahead."

"Mister Finn," said Stevenson. "I'm afraid we are probably going to need your little toy. Is it ready?"

"Yes it is, Miss Stevenson. I have it set for a ten-minute delay. I can start the countdown on your word."

"Well, it's not certain yet. We may still be able to pull this off. But be ready to push the button and get to an escape pod."

"Certainly, Miss Stevenson. I'll be right here."

Sharon Stevenson cut the connection and slumped in the chair she was sitting in. They had failed. She had failed. All the plans, all the work, all the risks, all the long years had come to nothing. All the deaths. About half her people had already been killed. The other half's lives could be measured in minutes once the Peep marines got on board.

And it was all for nothing.

They could still destroy the station. They would destroy the station. But they could have done that any time during the last year. They could have just evacuated the station and blown it up. All those people didn't have to die.

_ All because I didn't foresee two dedicated Peeps with pulse pistols!_

[Scene Break]

"Okay, Evan," said Patric McDermott, "Thanks for the update."

Patric checked off the information on his damage control console and then got up from his chair. He glanced at the tactical display. Less than an hour to go now! He walked over to where Anny was sitting.

"All damage control parties are standing by, Skipper," he said. "Unused compartments are in vacuum; repair materials are in their ready locations."

Anny looked up at him. "Thank you, Patric," she said and then resumed staring at the tactical display. Patric looked quickly at the other people on the bridge and then said quietly:

"Anny, are you all right?"

She blinked and looked up at him again.

"I'm fine, Patric."

He frowned. "Are you sure? We've still got some time left, maybe you should grab a quick nap."

She chuckled faintly and shook her head. "I'm all right," she insisted. "I could use some more coffee, though."

"Sure, Skipper," said Patric. He called a steward for the coffee and returned to his post. He kept glancing up at her, and he was worried. Usually Anny had a nervous sort of energy when she was on the bridge. She would get up and walk around and look over people's shoulders and ask questions. He knew it was the mark of an inexperienced commander, but everyone was used to it.

But today, except for the flurry of activity at the start of their voyage, she had kept to her chair, seemingly lost in thought. And everyone was noticing it. He caught Daley sneaking a look at her and most of the others seemed edgy, too. But Anny remained oblivious.

After a few minutes, VanVeen approached her.

"The tractors are still holding fine, Skipper," he said.

"Thank you, Philip," she said.

VanVeen slowly walked back toward his station. He stopped when he reached Patric. They stared at each other.

"Hell of a time to start coasting," he said. Patric flinched.

"She's not…!" he began, but cut himself off and looked around. VanVeen just raised an eyebrow and went back to his station.

Patric kept glancing at her. She had one elbow propped on her chair arm and her head was resting in her hand. He knew she was tired. They were all tired. They had pushed themselves to meet the deadline she had set specifically so they could get some sleep before the attack began—but then they never got that sleep. And Anny had pushed herself harder than anyone. Patric had total confidence in Anny's ability…

_ But what if VanVeen's right? God help us all_!

[Scene Break]

Alloysious Finn sat in the tiny storage compartment directly below the station's main fusion reactor and looked at the thing sitting on the floor next to him.

It was a bomb.

More precisely, it was part of a warhead from a Peep missile they had captured off a wrecked LAC several years before. They had captured two of them. One had already been used to destroy a Peep cruiser in a repair slip. This one might well be used to destroy the orbital station around the only inhabitable planet in the Scalloway system.

The Belters could make nuclear bombs, of course, but they could not make bombs like this one. It was not that it was especially powerful, it was not. No, it was because it was a fusion bomb with a laser trigger. The Belters could make fusion bombs with fission triggers, but that meant using uranium or plutonium with their telltale radioactive elements. The Peep sensors would spot them at a distance no matter how carefully they shielded them.

But this bomb was virtually undetectable. The power charge in the triggering capacitor might give it away, but they had carefully left that uncharged until they already had it aboard the station and were ready to use it.

And now they were ready to use it.

Stevenson had said that there was still a chance, but Finn was no fool. He had listened to the com-chatter. He knew what was going on and he knew what their chances were.

"Slim and none, to coin a phrase," said Finn to himself. He talked to himself a lot. But then he was an old man and old men did that, or so he had heard. He took a flask out of his pocket, carefully unscrewed the cap, and took a swig.

He put the flask away and then reached out and laid a wrinkled hand on the casing of the bomb. He had been its keeper for years. He was in charge of its maintenance and its security. And he had designed and built its detonator. The controls for that detonator were just a few centimeters from his hand. There were a few buttons, but the most prominent features were a digital time readout and a large, lighted red button behind a clear plastic shield. The readout was frozen at ten minutes.

"Looks like we are really going to do it this time," he said. "Never thought it would really happen."

Minutes passed and from time to time the station would shudder slightly as the Peeps continued to destroy weapons mounts. _Waste of effort: I'll be taking all of them out for you shortly._

Then his com buzzed. He knew who it was and what she would say before he answered it.

"Finn here," he said, going through the motions.

"Mister Finn, the Peeps have broken through our defenses," came the voice of Sharon Stevenson. "We can't hold them much longer and the Commodore can't get here in time—he doesn't have the marines to retake this place anyway."

"I understand, Miss Stevenson," said Finn.

"You have the bomb set for ten minutes? Wait five minutes from now and then start the timer. Be sure you get yourself to an escape pod, Mister Finn."

"Yes, Miss Stevenson, you can count on me to do what has to be done," said Finn.

"God bless you, Mister Finn," said Stevenson and then cut the connection.

"God bless you, too, Miss Stevenson," said Finn into the dead com.

He checked the time on his chrono and waited. He was good at waiting. He had been waiting much of his life for one thing or another. Never for anything quite like this, though.

He had imagined that the five minutes would drag interminably, but he was surprised to see that they had nearly passed when he checked his chrono again. He slowly got to his feet and opened the plastic shield over the glowing red button. The seconds counted down to zero. When it reached the proper time, he leaned over and pressed the red button without a moment's hesitation. Immediately, the readout went from ten minutes to nine minutes and fifty-nine seconds—and then continued to count down.

Finn stared at the readout for a few moments and then slowly sat back down. He took out his flask and had another swig.

"No, no escape pods for Alloysious Finn," he said to the bomb. "I've come a long way in this life. Time for a change."

He watched the seconds reel down. He thought about how he had gotten this job. At first it was just because he was a master instrument maker and they needed him to build the detonator. But then, somehow, he had become the bomb's keeper and eventually, the one to set it off if the need ever arose. He knew they trusted him to do it because he was old and had no family. A lot of people thought he had lost his family in the failed revolt and he was doing it for revenge. He had lost his family, but not in the revolt. They had died in a mining disaster many years before that.

No, he was not doing it for revenge. He had his reasons, but he had never told them to anyone.

Except the bomb_._

At the six-minute mark, he heard someone at the door to the compartment_. Peeps here already? No matter. There's no way to shut this down once it's started. I hope they don't shoot me. It would be amusing to see their faces when they realize what's about to happen._

He almost was shot, but not by the Peeps. He was completely surprised, and a bit dismayed when Sharon Stevenson came through the door-and nearly blew his head off with the pulser she was holding.

"Mister Finn!" she gasped. "What are you doing here? Have you activated the bomb? You need to get to an escape pod!"

"I should be saying the same thing to you, Miss Stevenson," said Finn. "Yes the bomb is activated—about five minutes to go now."

"Why didn't you try to get out?" she asked.

"Why didn't you?"

"We…we finally got through to the Commodore. He's pretty close, but with the station gone, he's going to have to run for it. There's no hope of being picked up by the Resistance, and I know too much to let the Peeps get me." The woman paused and her mouth twitched. Finn could see tears glinting in her eyes by the dim light in the compartment. "And…and so many people have already died today, I just couldn't…" her voice broke.

Finn stared at the woman and nodded. She was not exactly a young woman, but she was not old in Finn's eyes and he had always thought her quite pretty. It seemed such a shame. A tiny bit of anger flared inside Finn. He had not had a single regret in doing what he was doing, but now he did—how dare she place this guilt on him? But then he pushed it aside. _She made her decision, same as me. _

"Well, won't you sit down, Miss Stevenson? May as well be comfortable."

The woman laughed. It had a slightly hysterical ring to it, but it was still a welcome sound. Finn found that he was actually glad to have some other company with him besides the bomb.

Sharon Stevenson sat down on a crate and stared at the readout. About two minutes left.

"Can I offer you a drink, Miss Stevenson?" asked Finn, holding out his flask. The woman looked startled. She took the offered flask but sat staring at it, a haunted look on her face.

"They didn't die for you, Miss Stevenson," said Finn gently. "They died for an idea. The idea of a free Scalloway."

She looked up sharply at him. But then a tiny smile played over her face and she nodded. She held up the flask.

"To Free Scalloway!"

She took a long pull and then handed it back to him.

"To Free Scalloway!"

**Chapter Forty-Five**

"**I**'m sorry, sir, what did you say?" asked Andreanne Payne. She stared at the image of Commodore Perry Leighton on her screen. The man seemed to have aged a century since she last saw him.

"I said that our people on the station are going to have to blow it up," repeated Leighton in a husky voice. "The Peeps sabotaged the spherical sidewall generator and we couldn't repair it in time. The Peep marines from the planet have gotten aboard in strength and there is no way we can hold out. They've already set the timer on the bomb. It should just be a few minutes now…"

"Sweet Tester," whispered Anny. "I'm sorry, sir. I…I hope your people can get off before…before…" She didn't have a clue what to say.

"I hope so, too. There were some good people on that station."

Anny looked at the man and tried to imagine what he must be thinking. But then her own thoughts intruded and they would not wait.

"We must withdraw, Commodore."

The slumped image on her screen jerked erect and a spark of anger burned in Leighton's eyes. But then it fizzled out.

"Yes, you are right of course. I'll order the fleet to increase power to emergency levels. We can pull two hundred and twenty gravities that way. We can fall back to Dounby and the Reserve Fleet. Then we can make new plans. I'll talk to you later, Commander. Leighton out."

Philip VanVeen started muttering under his breath. Patric had told her about VanVeen's incredible store of profanity. She had scarcely believed it because he never used any of it when she was around. She had been waiting months for him to slip up—now he finally did.

"Yes, Philip, my sentiments exactly," she said.

VanVeen looked at her sharply and then blushed an amazing shade of crimson. "I'm sorry, Skipper!" he blurted.

"No need. The situation warrants it, I think. Mister Radakovich, increase acceleration to two hundred and twenty gees on the flagship's signal."

"Yes, ma'am," said the helmsman.

Anny stared at the tactical display. The fleet was currently about ten million kilometers from the station and still moving toward it. But their velocity was down to under twenty-five hundred kilometers per second and falling. With the increase in deceleration Leighton was ordering they would be at rest relative to the station in another twenty minutes and then they would head back the way they had come. Fortunately, they would be well out of missile range of the Peep ships when they changed directions. Anny had insisted on that during the planning. Leighton had wanted to cut things so that they would be practically on top of the station at the end of their deceleration. Without proof that the station was going to be neutralized, Anny would not agree. Now it was lucky she had not.

_Or is it lucky? Maybe we should go on in and try to take out the destroyer and the frigate while we have the chance._

But then she looked at the two other icons on her board. One showed a light cruiser, destroyer and frigate bearing down on them and the other a battleship and another frigate. _Too close and closing too damn fast. We can't fight them all. But hell, we can't outrun them either. They'll catch us long before we can get back to the belt—not that there's any refuge there._

As she thought about it, she became more convinced that she should take _Coeur_ _de Lion_ in and try to kill the Peep garrison ships. She had them heavily outgunned. She could kill them before the other ships arrive and cut the odds by that margin. She would have to give away the surprise they had arranged with the LACs, but it would be worth it. Of course, the enemy would run as soon as they realized what they were up against and that would lead her even further toward the other approaching Peeps…

"There it goes," said Lieutenant Pickering, quietly.

Anny looked up to the main display. The icon representing the orbital station took on a strange fuzzy look and then slowly faded off the screen. There had been no grav signature from the station so this was based on radar returns and passive sensors—which were limited to the speed of light. Thirty seconds ago the station had blown itself apart.

"May the Tester hold them and keep them," whispered Lieutenant Brown at the astrogation station.

"There are still some pretty large pieces registering, ma'am," said Pickering. "There could be some survivors even on board the station."

Anny nodded and tried to pick up her train of thought. To attack or not to attack. Her instincts told her to do it, to go after the nearby enemy and kill them now. But she did nothing. She continued to stare at the screen in silence. A terrible indecision filled her. She did not want to fight at all. Maybe the Peeps wouldn't come after them. Maybe they could get back to the belt unharmed. Once there, Leighton would have to see reason and let them hyper out and bring back help. And even if he didn't, they could hyper out anyway. But if she attacked, there was no way out. Her ship would take damage and her people would be killed and those other Peeps were still coming on. They would surely come to the rescue of their comrades—or avenge their destruction.

As she wrestled with her doubts, their velocity dwindled down to nothing and then began to build again in the opposite direction. She breathed a small sigh of relief. The chance had passed now. The decision was made.

"The Peep garrison ships haven't made a move, ma'am," reported Pickering.

Yes, that had been the other possibility: that the Peeps would come out to meet them. They had half-expected it; half hoped for it on their run in. That had not happened. Now they were not pursuing—not yet anyway. But the other Peep ships, the light cruiser and its consorts, they were coming on. They had ceased their deceleration to stop at the station and were bending their vector around to pursue the Belter fleet. An hour and a half or so and they would catch up.

The Belter ships and _GNS Coeur de Lion_ fled from the scene of disaster.

The Peeps were following them.

[Scene Break]

"The murderous, traitorous bastards!" spat People's Commissioner Zaharus.

Citizen Captain Gerard LaSalle glanced over where his watchdog was fuming. For once he nearly agreed with the disagreeable little man. Everyone on the bridge of _Mars la Tour_ was staring at the display in shock, dismay, and outright horror. LaSalle had feared that something like this was going to happen from the moment _Sarthe_ had reported that small craft and escape pods were spewing out of the station.

"How many people were on the station?" wondered Citizen Commander Edward Kreiser.

"There were two thousand of our people and eight thousand civilians," said LaSalle. "Plus the four companies of marines that had gotten aboard."

"Damn," muttered Kreiser. "I wonder how many made it off?"

"Shed no tears for the traitors, Citizen Commander!" said Zaharus sharply. "I've half a mind to order our ships to destroy the small craft and life pods! Only the fact that some of our own people may be among the survivors prevents me!"

"I would not approve of such an order, Citizen Commissioner," said LaSalle quietly. Zaharus looked daggers at him but restrained any comment he might have had.

"In any case," continued LaSalle, "the survivors will be picked up and I'm sure there will be plenty of opportunity to sort out the traitors from the mere victims."

"Skipper," said Citizen Lieutenant Laura Landis, "The rebels have increased their rate of deceleration. They're pulling two hundred and twenty gees now."

LaSalle looked at the display and saw that it was true. _Just as I thought, they were depending on the station to even the odds. Now that it's gone, all they can do is run—and there's nowhere to run._

"Incoming message from Citizen Commander Deluce," announced LaSalle's Com officer. "She asks permission to pursue the rebels."

LaSalle pulled up the tactical display on one of his repeaters and started drawing in vectors. After a few minutes he looked up and shook his head. Zaharus had been watching him and misinterpreted the gesture.

"Surely you are not going to let them escape!"

"No, Citizen Commissioner, I am not," answered LaSalle a bit testily. "But I am not sending _Sarthe_ after them on its own. I don't want the planet left unguarded, so _Chasseur_ must stay put until we get there. _Sarthe_ can rendezvous with our other ships and they can all go in together. The force will be more than adequate, I'm sure. There is no point in risking the destroyer when it is not necessary to do so."

"I see," said Zaharus. He looked a tiny bit sheepish, but offered no apology—LaSalle had not expected one.

"Mister Hannover," said LaSalle, turning to the Com Officer, "Instruct Citizen Commander Eddington on _Limoges_ to initiate a pursuit of the rebel ships. Tell Citizen Commander Deluce to conform to Eddington's movements and join up with him before engaging the enemy. Instruct the skipper of _Chasseur_ to remain at the planet and assist in rescue operation."

"Aye, aye, Citizen Captain."

"What are we going to do?" asked Zaharus, as if the previous exchange had never occurred.

"I intend to continue on to the planet and evaluate the situation there. Then I will embark whatever marines are still available and after conferring with Citizen General Siebert, we will proceed to either Stronsay or Pierowall to put down the uprisings there."

"I'm not sure how many marines are going to be left, Skipper," said Edward Kreiser. "A lot of them had boarded the station."

"I know, but anything will be better than…better than nothing."

"Are you suggesting that the State Security troops are not adequate for the job, Citizen Captain?" asked Zaharus.

"I'm not suggesting anything, Citizen Commissioner. However, it seems plain from what the Citizen General has been telling us that the SS troopers are neither trained nor equipped for this type of operation. The marines are and if we can use them to save the lives of our comrades, I believe we should do so."

"I see," said Zaharus. "And what is your estimate of what will happen when our ships catch up with the rebels?

LaSalle frowned. The bastard knew exactly what was going to happen! He was just baiting him and Kreiser. He controlled himself and answered levelly.

"I would expect the rebels to try and scatter once they see they are being pursued. With a hundred and twenty ships we can't hope to catch them all. But those we do catch will be destroyed.'

"And if they don't scatter?"

"Then they'll all be annihilated."

[Scene Break]

"Missile range in thirty-five minutes, ma'am," said Lieutenant Terrence Daley.

"What?"

"I said the enemy will be entering extreme missile range in thirty-five minutes, Commander."

"Oh, thank you, Mister Daley," said Anny.

Anny resumed staring at the tactical display. With only brief interruptions, she had been staring at it for over seven hours. Ever since they left Dounby. Her mind was a blank, but bit by bit, Daley's statement slowly worked its way inside. Suddenly she sat bolt upright.

_My God! Missile range in thirty-five minutes!_

Anny looked around the bridge in consternation.

_What the hell have I been doing?_

It was like waking up out of an uneasy sleep. At first she scarcely knew where she was or what was happening. Then, slowly, pieces started to fall into place. As they did so, Anny grew agitated. Full realization brought near-panic.

_Sweet Tester, I've been coasting!_

A ship that was not under acceleration and just drifted on whatever vector it had was said to be 'coasting'. But 'coasting' was also a term used by Academy cadets for a classmate who had reached the burnout stage. They were there in body, they made formations and attended classes and responded to questions, but they weren't really there. The lack of sleep and the stress of the workload and overuse of stimulants had left them sleepwalking zombies. Sometimes they pulled themselves out of it. Sometimes they left the Island and never returned.

In shock Anny realized that she had been coasting. Sitting in the command chair but her brain was somewhere else. The weeks and months of stress had done it to her. The eight hours of sleep she had planned to have but had not gotten had been part of it, too. And now, seven hours of waiting for the battle to begin had nearly finished her off. The enemy was closing in and she had been sitting here like some animal caught in the headlights of an approaching ground car!

She glanced around at her bridge crew. Did they know? _Patric must! _She fixed her eyes back on the tactical display. _I've got to do something!_

But it was hard. Her mind refused to focus on the problem at hand. Waves of fear threatened to overwhelm her. Fear mixed with a terrible guilt that she had allowed this to happen. She applied some of VanVeen's vocabulary to herself and dithered.

But she had been trained to command and that training came to her rescue. It was perhaps the hardest thing she ever did, but she put her fear and her guilt in a box deep inside her and forced herself to think.

And she was well prepared. Nature had given her superb reflexes and a mathematician's brain. Three years at the Academy had given her self-discipline. And she had spent hundreds of hours in the simulators teamed with one of the finest tacticians ever to walk Saganami Island.

_Pretend it's a simulator problem! What would Helen do?_

The thought of Helen calmed her down. She began to analyze the situation. Vectors and ship strengths and weaknesses flowed through her mind. Options and possibilities presented themselves. Her analysis gained speed and momentum like a boulder rolling down a hillside. Solutions started coming to the surface…

But then with a jarring shock, she realized that the best solution had already passed her by and she had missed her chance.

_I should have attacked!_

Her instincts had told her that two hours earlier, but her befuddled brain had not listened. It was clear now: When the rest of the fleet turned back, she should have gone ahead with her cruiser and the LACs and destroyed the two Peep garrison ships. With her initial vector to work with she could have run them down despite their superior accelerations. The flaw that she thought she had seen, the flaw she used as an excuse not to act, was no flaw at all. She had been thinking that after destroying the two Peeps she would have to decelerate and turn back to rejoin the fleet and that would give the other Peeps the opportunity to catch her.

But she had been wrong. Turning back was the flaw. There was no need to turn back—keep going! Keep accelerating! The other Peeps were on a nearly reciprocal course. All she would have to do was change her vector a bit and the Peeps could have only gotten a very brief engagement with missiles—and to achieve even that they would lose all chance of catching the Belter fleet. The battleship wasn't even a factor. It could never catch her before she got to the hyper limit. And once there she could have told Leighton she was hypering out to get help.

_Damn! Why wasn't I thinking? I've totally screwed this up! I've thrown it all away by sleeping instead of doing my duty!_

The panic and guilt fought their way out of that box and surged up in her again. She clenched the arms of her command chair and closed her eyes.

_Think girl, think! The past is past! What are you going to do NOW?_

She opened her eyes and forced her thoughts back to the problem facing her. What to do? A light cruiser, two destroyers and a frigate. The enemy ships closing on her had her heavily outgunned. The light cruiser looked to be a _Frigate_ class with eleven tubes on each broadside—only one less than _Coeur de_ _Lion_. The newer Peep designs tended to be very missile heavy compared to the ships of other navies, but her ship was an older one built along more conventional lines. The destroyers were probably _City_ class with seven tubes per broadside. The frigate probably had three or four. Twenty-eight or twenty-nine tubes to her twelve. Not good odds at all. She had some advantages to be sure: Better missiles, better electronics, bigger magazines (although only two-thirds full, it was true) and though her ship was lightly armored compared to most heavy cruisers, she was still far more sturdily built than her opponents.

But even allowing for that, the best Anny could hope to accomplish would be a pounding match that would probably leave all five ships wrecks.

_Unless…_

She looked at the tactical display again. The destroyer from the planet had not joined up with the others yet. It was still about five million kilometers astern of them. They had calculated things so their vectors would merge just before entering missile range.

_But what if I were to engage them earlier than that? What if I engage them right now?_

The last piece clicked into place and she had her solution. It was not the best solution—she had already lost that one—but it was second best and second best would have to do.

She took a deep breath. The fear and guilt made one last attempt to escape the box and overwhelm her, but she savagely pushed it back inside, slammed the lid, and locked it tight.

Andreanne Payne was in command. In command of the situation, in command of her ship, and in command of herself. She turned to her communications officer.

"Mister Siganuk, open a channel to Commodore Leighton!"

Her tone made everyone on the bridge jump. More than a few heads turned in her direction.

"Y'yes, ma'am!" said Siganuk. "The Commodore's on the screen, ma'am."

"Yes, Commander?" said Leighton. He looked like he was slipping into the funk Anny had just escaped.

"Commodore, I am going to drop back and engage the Peeps. You should keep going while we cover you. You might even consider scattering the Fleet."

"Do you think that's wise, Commander? We should stay together and all engage at once."

"I'm sorry, sir, but the truth is that your ships will be of little help in a long range missile duel. They can contribute very little offensively and trying to protect them will stretch my defenses to the breaking point."

"Well, if you think that's the best course…"

"I do, sir, and to make it work I have to begin at once. Good luck, sir."

Anny could see that Leighton was startled. She was not asking him for permission, she was telling him what she was going to do. He stared at her for a few seconds, but there was no doubt who was in charge at this moment.

"Very well, Commander. Good Luck to you."

"Thank you, sir. Payne out."

She cut the connection and then turned to face Philip VanVeen. He was staring at her—along with almost everyone else—with wide eyes.

"Mister VanVeen, I'm afraid I'm going to break your engineer's heart a little bit more and ask you to tinker with the drive again."

"Whatever you say, ma'am."

"Good! Here's what I want you to do…"

[Scene Break]

"Our ships will enter missile range in twenty minutes, Citizen Captain," said Citizen Lieutenant Laura Landis from _Mars la Tour's_ sensor station. "The rebels still aren't scattering."

LaSalle stared at the display and grunted an acknowledgment. He was ten light minutes away from where the battle was about to begin and the distance was opening rapidly as he and the transports decelerated toward the planet, while his other ships sped in pursuit of the rebels.

_Why haven't they scattered? If they've got some trick up their sleeves why did they run in the first place? It makes no sense._

LaSalle was worried. The nagging feeling that he was overlooking something was back, stronger than ever. But what? The rebels had no real warships. His intelligence briefs insisted they were only dangerous in close range ambushes. In a long range missile engagement, they didn't have a chance.

"Status change," announced Landis. "One of the rebels is falling behind, Citizen Captain. Their drive signature spiked suddenly and then weakened. They are only doing fifty gravities now."

"Blew their nodes," said Edward Kreiser. "That's one of the larger ones. They were redlining their drives to escape and pushed them too far. Poor bastards."

"Those 'poor bastards' are traitors and rebels, Citizen Commander!" said Zaharus angrily. "Traitors who have murdered thousands of our comrades. I'd advise you to remember that!"

"Oh I'll remember," said Kreiser. "Have no fear on that score."

"That rebel should be in extreme range in about eight minutes, Skipper," added Landis.

"What if they try to surrender?" asked Kreiser.

Both Zaharus and Kreiser fixed their eyes on LaSalle. He stared back at them without expression. They both knew full well that there was no possibility of matching vectors and capturing a ship under these circumstances. Nor could they let the rebels get away. There would be no choice at all.

LaSalle said nothing and turned back to the display where the icons were getting closer by the second.

[Scene Break]

"Missile range in five minutes, Commander," said Terrence Daley.

"Very well. Helm, reduce acceleration to zero. Engineering, stand by to detach the LACs. Communications, tell the Belters to get ready."

"Aye, aye, ma'am," came three voices in unison. The electricity on the bridge was amazing compared to the slow-motion nightmare of the last seven hours.

"Acceleration at zero," reported Ensign Daniel Radakovich, "We are coasting, ma'am."

_No we're not! Not anymore!_

"Release docking clamps," commanded Anny.

"Clamps released, tractors holding," said VanVeen.

Anny pressed a button on her chair arm. "All right, people, you know what to do. Good luck!"

Four acknowledgments came from the captured LACs that had been riding piggyback on _Coeur de Lion_. The tractors released them and slowly and carefully they maneuvered on thrusters to clear the ship and move out through the open throat of her impeller wedge. It took longer than Anny would have liked—they were cutting things awfully close.

"LACs are clear of the wedge," reported Lieutenant Pickering.

"Helm, pitch us up ninety degrees," said Anny.

"Aye, ma'am, pitching up."

"No reaction from the Peeps," reported Daley.

"The LACs are on station, ma'am," said Pickering.

Anny glanced over at Patric. He looked up and smiled at her. She smiled back and then wiped the sweat off her palms. She looked down and realized she was not wearing the gloves for her skinsuit. She glanced around but did not see where they were. Come to think of it, she had not seen them since…No matter, there was no time for that now.

_Coeur de Lion_ was drifting. She had oriented herself so her wedge was flat on to the approaching Peeps. It was a reasonable thing for a ship expecting to be fired on to do. But it also screened the four LACs from detection. They had not raised their own wedges yet, so they could only be picked up by radar or given away by their own emissions—and the cruiser's wedge blocked off all of that. As far as the enemy knew they were bearing down on a crippled rebel ship that could not possibly defend itself. If they had looked very carefully, they could have probably seen through Philip VanVeen's deception and recognized that the ship had a military grade impeller, but there was no reason to do that—the Peeps had no doubts about what they were about to destroy.

"The enemy is entering extreme missile range now, ma'am," said Daley.

"All right. Stand by everyone. No itchy trigger fingers! We will execute on my command," said Anny. She hoped her voice sounded calm, but she had no clue if it did.

The enemy was just under seven million kilometers away and closing at nearly ten thousand kilometers per second. But their velocity was actually falling. They had no wish to get _too_ close to the rebels. They had used their superior acceleration to build up an overtake velocity to get into missile range. Now they were slowing down so they could hang beyond the rebel's weapon range and wipe them out with missiles. If Anny had been their commander she would have slid by to the side and gotten in front—cutting them off from the belt. But apparently the Peeps were too eager to come to grips for that.

Anny watched the tactical display as the range shortened. There was a great temptation to fire right away. The Peeps were probably resisting it because at the moment, only their stern tubes could bear—and their target could not escape. Anny was resisting in order to achieve the best shot and the greatest possible surprise.

"Range, six million kilometers," reported Daley.

"Ma'am," said Lieutenant Pickering, "They're going to get close enough for an accurate read on our wedge very soon now, in spite of Lieutenant VanVeen's tinkering."

"I understand," said Anny. "Well, no point in pushing our luck—let's do it. All ships report!"

"_Retribution_, ready," came the voice of a Belter skipper over the com.

"_Avenger_, ready."

"_Revenge_, ready."

"_Payback_, ready."

"We're ready, too, Skipper," said VanVeen. He smiled at her and gave her a 'thumbs up' sign. She smiled and nodded back.

"All right," she said. She took a deep breath. "Ready…_Execute!_"

The pursuing enemy saw their intended prey suddenly move laterally at about fifty gravities, but thought little of it—the futile struggles of a trapped animal. But they did not see the four LACs moving on thrusters alone. They had no grav signatures and the radar returns would take nearly twenty seconds to bounce back to them.

Nor did they notice when twenty-eight missiles sprang from tubes and box launchers. The missiles' drives did not activate immediately so there was nothing for the grav detectors to pick up. They might have noticed the slight fluctuation in the wedge of the target when it rolled one hundred and eighty degrees to bring its other broadside to bear. The LACs were rolling as well, but once again, unseen. Twenty-eight more missiles joined the first batch. Two seconds later—just as the first radar returns might have indicated that something was not quite right here—all fifty-six missiles brought up their drives and hurtled towards the enemy at forty-eight thousand gravities of acceleration.

[Scene Break]

"Missile launch!" exclaimed Citizen Lieutenant Landis in surprise. "The rebel ship is launching missiles! Multiple launches! Forty-plus missiles!"

"What?!" cried LaSalle, jerking upright in his chair. He stared at the tactical display in astonishment. A cloud of red icons had appeared, heading directly towards their ships!

"New contacts! Four new contacts in close proximity to the first," said Landis in a strained voice.

"What's happening?" demanded Zaharus at his side.

"We've been suckered, somehow," said LaSalle without thinking.

"Sir! Those missiles are Manticoran!" cried Laura Landis, forgetting the approved form of address in her shock. "Signatures match the latest Manty missile types."

"Oh my God," whispered LaSalle. Just what were they getting into here?

"The first target is accelerating towards our ships—at four hundred and sixty gravities! Wedge signature has shifted—now reads as military grade!"

LaSalle looked on in horror. He was still safely ten light minutes away, but those were his ships out there—out there where he had sent them!

[Scene Break]

"All missiles running as planned," reported Terrence Daley. His voice was as cool as if this was just an exercise and Anny shook her head in admiration.

"Fourth salvo firing…now,' he added.

"Shift fire to the destroyer," said Anny.

"Aye, ma'am, shifting fire."

"Helm, stop the spin and come to course Oh-three-three, by Oh-one-nine. Acceleration at eighty percent."

"Aye aye, ma'am," said the helmsman.

_Coeur de Lion_ had continued to spin after the initial two salvoes and had sent two more against the primary target—the light cruiser. Now she stopped spinning and shifted fire to the destroyer. She turned her bow as close to the enemy as she could without losing her broadside

The Lion had shed her sheep's clothing. The hunted had become the hunter.

Surprise was total, but the Peeps were not totally unprepared. It was wartime and ships were never totally unprepared. Their weapons were manned and their systems were on line, but surprise was still total.

Long seconds went by while the stunned crews tried to understand what was going on. They were under attack by something that could not possibly attack them! But then their training took over and they reacted as they had been trained to react. Five missiles spat from the ships' stern tubes in a ragged volley and then they swung their bows around to bring the broadsides to bear. But nearly a minute had passed since that first impossible salvo had appeared on their screens. It was only ninety seconds away now.

The Peeps' defenses started to react. Countermissiles were launched and decoys deployed. Electronic countermeasures went into action. But the incoming missiles were the best Manticoran technology had to offer. They had good targeting information and they closed relentlessly on _PNS Limoges_. The missiles' own electronics were devastatingly effective. Anny had only deployed four jammers with her salvo, but they were enough. Countermissiles went astray and decoys were ignored.

As the salvo neared attack range, laser clusters opened up and the enemy vessels twisted this way and that to avoid the deadly threat. The elongated and somewhat ragged nature of the salvo gave them more time to fire at it, but all fifty-six missiles had been targeted on the light cruiser. A half-dozen had succumbed to countermissiles. Eight more were blown apart by lasers. Two of the survivors were jammers with no warheads. But the forty remaining missiles all reached attack range and detonated. Hundreds of X-ray lasers lashed at the hapless cruiser. Many of them hit the impeller wedge and many more simply missed. Others were stopped or deflected by the cruiser's sidewalls. But over twenty found their target and _Limoges_ was impaled on lances of fire.

A light cruiser is basically just an enlarged destroyer. More weapons, more fuel, more comfortable accommodations. But the same lack of armor. They are designed to pick on smaller ships. They were not built to take this sort of punishment. Lasers blew through the thin hull plates from stem to stern. Weapons were smashed, sensors destroyed and men and women reduced to vapor or mangled corpses. One fusion plant shut down automatically. The other stayed on line somehow, but both the forward and after impeller rooms were destroyed and the ship's wedge and sidewalls collapsed. She could not maneuver and she was utterly naked to the follow-up salvo. Life pods were already starting to jettison when those missiles finished her. The second fusion plant went down and the ship tumbled along—a hopeless wreck.

"Yes!" shouted several people on _Coeur de Lion's_ bridge as the enemy cruiser disappeared from the gravitic sensors. Anny let out her breath. Shifting targets so soon had been a risk. If they had not taken out the cruiser they would still have three enemies to fight. But it had worked—and for the moment, there were only two left—both much weaker.

"Missiles incoming, countermissiles going out," announced Ensign Tanner from the missile defense station next to Lieutenant Daley.

Anny glanced at the track of the enemy missiles. They were all targeted on them. While that was not the best news, she was relieved that the enemy was leaving the LACs alone. Anny had used them as basically self-propelled missile pods, controlling their fire with _Coeur de Lion's_ computers. Their job was now done and she had ordered them out of here. They were hurrying to catch up to the fleet and fortunately, the Peeps were ignoring them.

Which was understandable considering what else they had to worry about.

Just a few minutes had completely changed the situation. Instead of twenty-eight tubes against twelve, it was now twelve against ten—and the ten were completely out-classed.

The first Peep salvo, the five missiles launched from their stern tubes, never made it past the countermissiles. The next group was much larger, twenty-one missiles, but in the enemy's hurry to bring their broadsides to bear, they had not been launched as a coherent salvo. The destroyer and frigate had gotten around first and had not waited for the cruiser. This allowed Ensign Tanner to deal with them as separate groups and none survived to get past the laser clusters. The third wave was much better organized. Even so, the superior Manticoran equipment made the difference. A dozen of the missiles were destroyed or neutralized by countermissiles and electronic countermeasures. Laser clusters took out seven more. Only two reached attack range and they scored only a single hit.

"Hit portside, aft," reported Patric. "Minor damage only, fuel tank fifty-nine ruptured.'

"Here we go again," said VanVeen wryly.

The fourth salvo scored two more hits, destroying a laser cluster and several sensor mounts. The fifth took out a main laser and more fuel tanks. The sixth was another ragged one as _Limoges_ took evasive action—and after that, the enemy salvoes were much smaller.

"We're scoring on him, Skipper," reported Lieutenant Pickering. "The destroyer is spilling air and debris."

"Maintain fire, Mister Daley," said Anny.

"Aye aye, ma'am."

The two remaining Peep ships were still closing on them rapidly. Their overtake velocity was dragging them toward a superior foe and there was little they could do about it. After two ineffective salvoes, they gave up their broadsides and turned away to try and stop their headlong slide to destruction.

But the laws of physics were inexorable. Every second was bringing them thousands of kilometers closer and even with their drives at maximum, they could only decrease that by a little over five kilometers per second each second. And _Coeur de Lion_ was accelerating toward them as much as it could without giving up her own broadside.

The unequal duel went on for a few minutes and then, abruptly, the Peep destroyer blew up. The cheer that went up on _Coeur de Lion's_ bridge was not as lusty as the first one—it wasn't quite as exhilarating to destroy a foe they so clearly out-classed.

But fair or not, the battle went on.

"Shift fire to the frigate," said Anny.

"Aye, ma'am, shifting fire," replied Daley.

Now the fight was totally one-sided. The frigate's three broadside tubes would be nearly useless against the cruiser's defenses and her own countermeasures were not meant to withstand the onslaught that now was directed against her. But for some reason, luck seemed to side with the frigate as it had not with the destroyer. Salvo after salvo went in, but few hits were scored. Those hits that did strike home seemed to do little damage. The small ship's skipper realized that he had no hope of reversing his vector before he had drifted into energy range, so he changed course to try and slide by _Coeur de Lion_ and escape that way. Anny was becoming concerned about the number of missiles she was expending on this relatively minor target when the ship's luck ran out. Something vital was finally hit. The drive faltered and then failed and the follow-up salvoes reduced the ship to a cloud of debris. Anny let out a sigh.

"Cease fire," she ordered.

She looked at the other Peep destroyer on the display, but it only took a glance to see that there was no use in going after it. The instant the light cruiser was wrecked that Peep had turned aside and now Anny could not hope to get more than a salvo or two off at extreme range. It would not be worth the ammunition.

Anny sat back in her chair and for a minute the lethargy that had claimed her seven hours earlier threatened to return. She was exhausted and the intense activity of the last forty minutes had drained what little reserve she had left.

"Well done, Skipper."

She looked up to see Philip VanVeen standing in front of her with a huge grin. He held out his hand and she took it. The rest of the bridge crew were smiling and nodding at her, too. Even Daley.

"Thank you, Philip," she replied. "And a well done to all of you, too. That was excellent, gentlemen."

"Ma'am?" said Patric, "I've got DC parties working on the repairs. I don't think we'll be able to repair the laser or the laser cluster, but I'm replacing the sensors we lost and patching the holes. Overall, we are in fine shape."

"Thank you, Mister McDermott." She smiled at him and he smiled back. Then she turned to Daniel Radakovich who looked to be on the verge of jumping up and cheering.

"Helm, bring us about. Mister Brown, give us a rendezvous course with the fleet."

"Aye aye, ma'am!"

"Skipper, we'll be passing right by the life pods from that Peep light cruiser," said Brown, after a moment. "They've got their beacons deployed. Maybe we could pick them up?"

Anny thought about it for a moment. It would not really delay them at all to do so, and those pods were on a fast vector out of the solar system. Unless somebody picked them up in the next day or so, it was likely no one ever would. She nodded her head.

"Yes, we'll do that. We can just snag them with our tractors as we go by. Alert Lieutenant Hickman that we will be having guests—and make sure they're kept away from the Belters who are aboard."

"Incoming message from the Commodore," reported Andrew Siganuk.

"Put him on," said Anny with another sigh. _Couldn't everyone just leave her alone for a few minutes?_

Perry Leighton looked entirely different than he had a short while ago. He was smiling a smile that Anny had never seen on him before and it looked like his face was going to shatter from the strain.

"Well done, Commander! Well done! That was outstanding! Let me congratulate you on a brilliant victory!"

"Thank you, sir. We were lucky."

"Bah! Don't hand me that, Commander! I may not be a professional, but I can recognize a professional at work. Sean Magarrigle told me you were an Academy graduate, but I don't think I realized just what that meant until now."

_I'm not sure I did either._

"What are your plans now, Commodore?"

"We will proceed back to Dounby and rendezvous with the Reserve Fleet. My inclination is to head for Pierowall to consolidate our gain there, but we will have to wait for more information before we act."

"Sir, there is still that battleship to contend with," said Anny. "We can expect it to come after us shortly. They're not just going to accept this." Anny saw that Lieutenant Pickering was gesturing at the tactical display. "In fact, sir, they have just changed course to come after us."

Leighton frowned. "Yes, I see. This is something else we did not allow for. There are still thousands of unarmed vessels clustered around Dounby. Most of them have only weak reaction thrusters and will take some time to clear the area. I'm afraid we will have to hold off the Peeps until they can disperse."

"Yes, sir," said Anny. She was trying to evaluate the possibilities, but it was hard to concentrate again.

"In any case, it is still over four hours until we reach Dounby," said Leighton. "We have some time to plan. Once again, my congratulations, Commander and I'll be speaking with you again. Leighton out."

Anny stared at the blank monitor for a moment and then turned her attention to the tactical display. The Peep battleship was coming after them along with the frigate. The transports were still headed for the planet. The destroyer was now on a parallel course, shadowing them. She punched in a few numbers and saw that the battleship was pulling two hundred and ninety gees and would catch up to them about the time they reached Dounby.

_What happens then? I'm too tired to think._

She knew she needed to make plans for what was to come, but she could not. She had to sleep—at least for a little while.

"Well, gentlemen, I don't think anything more will happen for a few hours. I'm going to my cabin for a while. I suggest you call your watch replacements and try to get some rest, too. Philip, you can stand us down from General Quarters. Have someone call me in two hours."

"Aye aye, Skipper. Enjoy your rest."

[Scene Break]

Citizen Captain Gerard LaSalle stared at his tactical display and sighed.

_What the hell is going on? One of our cruisers with Manticoran missiles in the hands of rebels! How? How could that happen?_

They had been able to identify the class of the ship that had so ruthlessly smashed their comrades. But that had raised more questions than it answered.

"We must crush the traitors, Citizen Captain," said Citizen Commissioner Zaharus.

"We are in pursuit, Citizen Commissioner," said LaSalle.

"And we must catch the mutineers!"

"Mutineers, Citizen Commissioner?"

"In that cruiser! Clearly traitors who have seized their ship and sided with the rebels. They must be destroyed!"

LaSalle shook his head. He certainly did not have all the answers himself, but he was surprised that Zaharus had had come to such an obviously wrong conclusion.

"I'm afraid you are mistaken on that count, Citizen Commissioner. I do not believe we are dealing with mutineers."

"And why not?" said Zaharus, bristling.

"The missiles. The missiles they were using were Manticoran—top of the line, brand new Manticoran missiles. Somehow I can't see the Manties supplying Havenite mutineers with their newest missiles."

"But then how are they using one of our own ships?" asked Zaharus in surprise.

"I can only surmise that it is a prize ship that the Manticorans captured at some point and re-equipped with their own missiles and electronics," answered LaSalle.

"But then what is it doing here?" demanded Zaharus.

"That, is the big question, Citizen Commissioner. Did the Manties simply turn this ship over to the rebels, or is there a Manty crew on board? Considering how expertly they ambushed us just now, I would suspect the latter. And if that's the case, are there any more of them around? I can't see them leaving just one of their ships here."

"If there were more, surely they would have appeared somewhere else in the system by now."

"Perhaps, but it certainly makes our job much more dangerous than it had been."

"Dangerous or not, we must destroy them!" exclaimed Zaharus.

"We will certainly do our best, Citizen Commissioner."

The annoying little man turned away and LaSalle was left to himself for a moment. He considered the tactical situation, but his mind kept wandering back to the question of who was going to take the blame for this disaster. The orbital station destroyed, three ships destroyed, and the rebels with a modern warship. It was a sure bet that Citizen General Siebert was not going to take the blame. And Citizen Captain Charles Rocheway was dead.

Which left him the senior naval officer in the Scalloway system.

It wasn't his fault, he told himself. But finding scapegoats for reverses was a major industry in Haven these days, and he was the obvious candidate. Nothing he did now could change the fact that Scalloway was a disaster. A small disaster to be sure—nothing that happened here was of any real import—but a disaster nonetheless.

And the only thing he could do at this point to redeem himself at all was to destroy that cruiser and as many rebels as he could catch. He turned to his engineer.

"Citizen Commander Boerste, do you think we can coax three hundred gees out of those old nodes of ours?"

**Chapter Forty-Six**

**O**ne and a half light hours from the star that was designated HC-34783-F3475 in the standard catalogs and which was called "Scalloway" by its inhabitants, the fabric of space was momentarily ripped apart. One instant, there was nothing but a few grains of dust and a scattering of gas molecules, invisible against the distant stars, and the next, two enormous white shapes blinked into existence.

One shape was considerably larger than the other, although both were huge by any human standard. The pair drifted toward the glowing jewel that was Scalloway's distant sun. There was no visible sign that either shape was aware of its surroundings, but, in fact, both were probing the vicinity with sensitive instruments.

After nearly an hour, the larger shape was approached by eight much smaller shapes. Unlike the first shape, these were as black as the space around them. Nearly invisible to the unaided eye, and extremely hard to see even with artificial aids.

"_Hydra_, this is Zilwicki. We are approaching your position. We'll be ready to dock in about twenty minutes. Good to see you again."

"Roger, Commander, Lowell here. Glad to see you, right on time. Anything to report?"

"We've got a lot of sensor information to download. Definitely Peeps here. We picked up a dozen hyper-footprints over on the other side of the system about nine hours ago. But no luck on what we're really looking for."

"Acknowledged. Well, once you are aboard, we'll broadcast our farewell message and see if that brings any response. There's a lot of traffic in this system and I'm glad you did not take any unnecessary chances."

"Understood. Zilwicki out."

Brevet Lieutenant Commander Helen Zilwicki cut her connection and gave a sour grin. "'Didn't take any unnecessary chances', he says! If I was that sort, I never would have gotten into the LACs in the first place!"

That brought a round of laughter from the bridge crew of the LAC _Black Magic_. Helen found herself looking at Randy Huber and they both smiled. _Black Magic_ was a much happier ship these days and that was because Helen was a much happier person. Well, perhaps 'happy' was not the word, but at least she was not as unhappy as she had been. She was still terribly worried about Anny and Patric, but she had a handle on it now, and a handle on the rest of her life, too.

And she had Randy to thank.

She thought back to that amazing night on _Hydra _and got a warm feeling. Randy had done something for her then that had changed her life. And he had not really _done_ anything at all except be there. They had not made love. They had not even gotten undressed. They had simply lain together on Helen's bunk and tried to sleep. Helen had not really gotten much sleep, but she had dozed off. Each time she had, the nightmares had tried to come, just as they always did. But this time there was someone else there to help her fight them off. She would come half awake and feel him next to her in the bunk, feel his arm draped across her, and the nightmare would fade and she would sleep.

In the morning, they had not said much to each other and Randy had gone back to his own quarters. They had done nothing since then, but there was no need. When the nightmares tried to come again, Helen would come half awake and imagine Randy in the bunk next to her and the dream would fade and she would sleep. The nightmares were much fewer now. Helen was able to sleep and the whole crew of _Black Magic_ could tell that something was different.

Randy and Helen were not lovers, but they had shared a special closeness. It was something that would link them forever.

"The squadron's all in the groove, Commander," said Ensign Carol Pancoast from the astrogation station. "We're on final approach."

"Very good," said Helen. "Are you picking up anything, Penny?"

"Well, just the same stuff as before, ma'am," replied Penny Harding. "A hell of a lot of impeller signatures and com traffic."

"Okay, but keep a sharp eye, we may as well keep looking as long as we are out here."

"Will do, ma'am."

Helen was glad that Harding was not holding a grudge from when Helen had exploded at her. She wasn't sure if Randy had said anything to her, but she seemed as friendly as she always had.

She turned her attention to the main display that was showing a schematic of the star system. Her eight LACs had been dropped off here two weeks earlier and then spread out into a pattern that allowed them to cover the whole inner system before rendezvousing with their carrier on the other side. They had done this a number of times before, but this time had been a bit different. This system was inhabited and apparently had lots of ships buzzing about. It made their job much more difficult. They could not just openly broadcast their presence as they had done elsewhere. They had to drift quietly and look for their quarry with passive sensors. The plan was that just before they left they would broadcast an open message in hopes the missing ship would hear and respond. If the Peeps got unfriendly, they could always hyper out. Helen had not had any great hopes when they got here, but at least this had been more interesting than all of the uninhabited systems they had searched.

Minutes passed and the squadron drew near their carrier. They were just preparing to turn themselves over to the docking tractors when Ensign Harding suddenly cried out:

"Whoa! What the…! Multiple nukes going off! About fifty light minutes away in the direction of the fourth planet. There were thirty or forty at least and…Oops! There go some more!"

"Missile warheads?" asked Helen.

"Yes, ma'am, I'd say so. Much stronger than that faint pulse we had two hours ago. Can't really say any more at this range, but somebody's shootin' at somebody!"

Helen looked at the display. Someone was fighting a battle a few light minutes outward from the fourth planet. The powerful radiation pulses from the missile warheads were clearly detectable on sensors even from that distance. A few minutes went by and the location of the explosions shifted slightly and a short while later she could estimate a general direction for which way the combatants were heading. After a few more minutes the explosions ceased.

"Looks like it's over for now," said Pancoast.

"But the question remains of who the hell it was," said Randy Huber.

"Incoming message, ma'am," said Pancoast. "It's Commander Lowell." Helen looked up and realized that they had not been tractored by the ship yet—clearly _Hydra_ had been distracted by this sudden turn of events, too. Her commander appeared on the com monitor.

"I assume you saw that, Helen?" he asked.

"Yes, sir, we did. We need to find out what's happening, sir."

"Well, I think you should just go and find out, don't you?" said Lowell.

"Sounds like a plan to me, sir."

"Do you want to take Hysteria Four along with you?"

Helen considered it. Another squadron from her group was aboard _Hydra_ and could join her.

"That would leave you with no LACs at all, sir. For now, I think Hysteria Three is enough for a fast recon."

"Very well, Helen, plot a course for a tentative intercept on that battle based on the course we were able to observe. We'll stand by to hear from you."

"Aye aye, sir."

"Hope they don't mind us crashing their party," said Randy Huber.

[Scene Break]

"You should have seen it! It was just incredible!"

Anny paused in the lift entrance and listened to Ensign Daniel Radakovitch's excited voice echoing down the passageway.

"Well, you bridge officers have all the fun," answered another young voice that Anny did not quite recognize. "What happened?"

"We blew three Peep ships to Perdition is what happened!"

"I knew that, Daniel!"

"Well, that's about all there was to it! They were coming up from behind and we just turned around and let them have it."

"I guess the LACs really fooled 'em, huh?"

"Sure did! But you should have seen the Skipper! I was sweating pulser darts the whole time the Peeps were closing. I mean there were four of them and all—including a light cruiser. But the Commander! She just sat there as cool as could be. Hell, I thought she was taking a nap part of the time! And then, when they got close, she just started snapping out orders and ate the bastards for lunch!"

"Wow! And some of those idiots are saying she's not fit to command! Guess this will show them!"

Anny leaned against the door frame of the lift and closed her eyes. _They'll never know. They'll never know how close it was!_

She opened her eyes and pulled herself upright. She had slept for two hours. It had not made her feel any better, but she had gotten something from Doctor Lewis and she was reasonably alert. Unnaturally alert, actually. The drug was powerful—far more powerful than the stim tabs she had been using-and it gave her a strange, hyper-acute sense of her surroundings. He had not been happy giving it to her and he warned her that she was pushing herself beyond safe limits, but he could not argue when she told him that the circumstances demanded it.

"Commander Payne to the bridge please." The PA summons rang through the ship, but she was only a few meters away and was walking trough the hatch to the bridge before it could even be repeated.

"Status?" she asked. The prime bridge crew was already at their stations and she wondered if any of them had taken her advice and gotten some sleep.

"The Peeps are closing on us, Skipper," said VanVeen. "They did not turn over at the same point we did and they have a considerable overtake velocity. They are still over an hour behind us, but unless we do something soon there's no way we'll avoid an engagement."

Anny nodded and took her place in the command chair. She looked at the tactical display and it was about as she had expected. The battleship and the frigate were overtaking them and the enemy destroyer was hanging on one flank and pacing them.

_Coeur de Lion_ and the Belter fleet were decelerating toward Dounby. The Peeps were slowing as well, but the Battleship had a sufficiently superior speed that it would catch up just about the time they got to the asteroid.

There were swarms of unarmed belter craft trying to get out of the vicinity, but they were painfully slow. Anny knew that the ships of the Reserve Fleet were also around Dounby, although they were doing their best to avoid detection.

_Now what do I do?_

She had a faint memory of a dream she had just before waking. Numbers and vectors swirling around and the strong feeling that she had made a mistake—another mistake. As she looked at the display, she realized that the dream had been correct—she had made another mistake.

_We should have veered off. Maybe it's not too late._

"Get me Commodore Leighton, Andy," she said to her Com officer.

"Leighton on screen, ma'am," said Lieutenant Siganuk after a moment.

"Commodore, we have to plan our next move," she said after they exchanged greetings.

"Yes, Commander, you are correct. My thought was to draw them after us and then hit them with everything we've got once the Reserve Fleet is in range."

She was afraid that was what he was going to say.

"Commodore, that could be terribly costly. And I don't know if we could expect to beat them even if they did what we wanted. That battleship has an awful lot of firepower."

Leighton looked as though he was about to insist on it, but he cut himself off and pondered for a moment. "What would you suggest, Commander?"

"Well, sir, at the moment we are at a disadvantage because we have the unarmed craft to think about—and the people on Dounby as well. The Peeps can pin us down and force us to fight on their terms—if we let them. What I would propose is to try and draw them off with my ship. They have to realize that it is the biggest threat to them and they might very well follow us instead of going after you and your people."

"What if they do?" asked Leighton, who did not seem convinced.

"If I were to veer off from you right now, I can use our higher acceleration to prevent them from getting anything more than a brief exchange of missiles at extreme range. Then I can pull away from them. In the meantime, your forces can break contact and disengage."

"And then what?"

Anny suddenly realized she had talked herself into a corner. Leighton was not going to like the obvious next move.

"Uh, we have a number of options at that point, sir. We could rally at Pierowall, or we could just make ourselves scarce for a while…"

"Or you could hyper out and go for help," finished Leighton.

"That would be an option, yes, sir."

"And which would you recommend, Commander?" Leighton was staring at her very intently.

"I think that the last option gives us the greatest chance for long term success, sir."

Leighton looked down. The elation she had seen in him after the brief battle had all drained away. He seemed very old and tired.

"Commander," he paused and shook his head. "Commander, I insisted on doing things my way and we've nearly had a disaster. There was no way we could have anticipated much of what has happened, but in hindsight, it would have been much better to have let you go for help in the first place."

Anny was surprised by his statement and said nothing.

"All right, suppose we do it your way and the Peeps don't take the bait?"

"In that case, I'd have to reverse my course and come back to help you, sir. I can't let you face that ship alone. It will be obvious very quickly whether they intend to follow. If they don't, I can rendezvous with you well before the Peeps catch up."

Now it was Leighton's turn to be surprised. Anny could see some of her bridge crew stirring uneasily as well.

"You'd do that?"

"Yes, sir, I would." Anny could feel Philip VanVeen's eyes boring into her, but she did not meet his gaze.

"I…all right. Supposing they do follow you," said Leighton, slowly. "What would you suggest the rest of us do while you are gone?"

"That's a difficult question, Commodore. Your people on Stronsay are going to have a difficult time. But I'm not sure what we could do to help them. Now that I think of it though, you may have an opportunity there. The Peeps will surely want to retake Pierowall as well as Stronsay. Perhaps by positioning you forces to threaten Stronsay, you can keep them away from Pierowall."

"For a month or more? That's a pretty slim hope, Commander."

"Yes, sir, I suppose it is," admitted Anny.

"But it would be pretty slim even if you managed to disengage and then stayed around," said Leighton. "The Peeps could just concentrate all their forces around Stronsay and send for help. If we did not send you off then it would just be a matter of time until they came back with more strength and crushed us."

Leighton drew himself up and stared out at her.

"Very well, Commander. I think you should do what you have suggested. Good luck—and thank you for all you've done so far."

"Thank you, sir. We'll be back as soon as we can—assuming we actually leave at all. And if I'm going to do this, I had better get started. Good luck to you, sir. Payne out."

Anny continued to look at the blank screen for a moment and then she turned to her helmsman.

"Daniel, come one hundred and thirty degrees to port and increase our acceleration to eighty-five percent."

"Aye aye, ma'am!" said Radakovich. The prospect of actually hypering out had filled everyone with anticipation. They all looked eagerly as _Coeur de Lion's_ icon on the display slowly veered away and drew ahead of the Belter Fleet. But would the Peeps take the bait?

"Never thought I'd _want_ a Peep battleship to be chasing us," said Philip VanVeen.

[Scene Break]

"The cruiser is veering off and increasing speed, Citizen Captain," reported Citizen Lieutenant Landis.

LaSalle looked up and saw that it was true. He had been expecting this to happen for over an hour. Now that it had, he would have to make up his mind what to do about it. He tapped a few numbers into his own repeater and then nodded.

_Yes, just let me get close enough to keep my interest and then you pull away again. Very clever my friend!_

"Are we going to pursue them?"

LaSalle turned and was slightly surprised that Zaharus was asking the question rather than telling him they must pursue them.

"An excellent question. They clearly want us to pursue. They want to draw us away from the other rebels. The cruiser is more dangerous than all of those other ships combined, but he has the legs to outrun us if he wants to and if we go after him, we give up on the others."

"Perhaps if we split our forces," began Zaharus, but he stopped when he saw LaSalle shaking his head.

"Our destroyer and frigate could catch that cruiser, but they can't beat it, so I can't send them after it while we go after the rebels. For just us to go after the cruiser ispointless: we can't catch it. And considering the number of surprises we've encountered so far today, I don't like the idea of dividing our forces."

"So we are going to let them get away?"

"It is a possibility," admitted LaSalle. "But they are clearly trying to draw us away from the other rebel ships. If we refuse to let ourselves be drawn, perhaps they will give up the attempt and engage us. It is a fairly slim hope to be sure—they must know that we heavily outgun them—but I don't see any other real option at this point. Unless we were to just withdraw back to Stronsay and consolidate our position until the next task force arrives."

"I don't think I can approve of that when the enemy is right before us, Citizen Captain," said Zaharus.

"No, I don't suppose I can agree with it either. We have the opportunity now to hurt the rebels badly. We might not get this opportunity again."

"If the cruiser does not return we should be able to destroy large numbers of the rebels ships, will we not?"

"I would imagine so, Citizen Commissioner. Unless they have something else up their sleeves, we should be able to keep killing them until we run out of missiles."

LaSalle had put a great deal of irony into his voice, but the little man did not seem to even notice. He just nodded his head in satisfaction and turned his attention to the tactical display.

LaSalle shook his head slightly and exchanged glances with Citizen Commander Edward Kreiser.

[Scene Break]

"They're not buying it, Skipper," said Lieutenant Pickering. "They've got to see what we're doing, but their course hasn't altered by a centimeter."

Anny nodded. She had not really expected them to. But it had been a chance and they were certainly justified in giving it a try. _Well, there's only one thing left to do._

"Helm, come left one hundred and sixty degrees. Mister Brown, plot a course to rendezvous with the fleet."

"Aye, aye, ma'am."

_Coeur de Lion_ turned away from a clear route of escape. She turned back to meet a foe over ten times her size. She had promises to keep.

**Chapter Forty-Seven**

"**H**ow's it coming, Mister Daley? We don't have a lot of time left," said Anny Payne to her TAC officer.

"Nearly done, ma'am," he replied. "Or as done as we are going to be. I don't know how well this is going to work—it's not something we planned on."

"I know. But if even some of them do what we want it will be a gain."

"Yes, ma'am, of course."

Anny stared at the back of Daley's head for another moment and then turned to the tactical display. The Peeps were nearly in range. The ominous red triangle was getting closer and closer. The battleship was coming straight on. The frigate was with it and the shadowing destroyer had dropped back to join them twenty minutes ago. There would be no taking them piecemeal this time. All the ships on both sides were decelerating as they drew near Dounby. The unarmed Belter craft were scattering, but far too many were still close enough to be fired on when the Peeps got nearer. Anny wondered if a ship named _Long Shot_ was among them.

The Reserve Fleet was out there, too—somewhere. The Belters did not have secure enough communications for them to broadcast without giving away their positions, so they were lying as quietly as possible. They were there, but Anny did not know their exact positions, or their numbers, or if they would be any use at all in the coming engagement.

The thought of what was about to happen sent a shudder of fear through her. In some ways it was worse than her panic of a few hours earlier. This wasn't the fear of indecision or disgrace, it was the far more basic fear of dying. She would fight her ship as well as she knew how and she had one more trick up her sleeve that might help, but the simple fact was that the odds were very much against her still being alive an hour from now.

The idea of dying frightened her. She had never really faced it like this before. The time during their 'prentice cruise, everything had happened too fast to think. The battle a few hours before had been frightening enough, but she had not had time to worry about herself—or the people she cared about. Her gaze drifted over to Patric. She thought of Chris Tropio down in Environmental Control. They would probably die, too. What right did she have to take them—to take any of her crew—into a hopeless fight like this? She shivered slightly and she found her eyes filling with tears. _Damn! Is the drug Lewis gave me doing this? He said there could be some side effects with my emotions._ She blinked to get rid of the tears and forced her thoughts back to the business at hand.

"We're ready, ma'am," reported Daley, turning from his console. "I've got six of the Belter ships hooked into our fire control. That's the most we can handle with this rig. It's a shame we didn't have time to reload the launchers on the LACs; we already had the fire control links set up for them."

"Well done, Mister Daley." said Anny, trying to sound confident. "What about the rest?"

"They will all fire their impeller missiles when we do, but under their own fire control. I have no idea how effective that is going to be, ma'am."

"I guess we'll find out shortly."

"Yes, ma'am. Ten minutes to extreme missile range."

[Scene Break]

"Extreme missile range in ten minutes, Citizen Captain."

"Thank you. Launch another drone, Ms. Landis. Same as before."

"Aye aye, Skipper."

LaSalle watched as their recon drone sped off toward the Rebel ships. Its active sensors blazed away and shortly their tactical display was updating itself with the new information it was sending back. He had no intention of being surprised again if he could help it.

"We're picking up some more contacts on the flanks of our intended course, Citizen Captain," said Landis after a while. "Faint radar returns, only. Probably small ships trying to avoid being spotted."

LaSalle grunted in acknowledgment. There were so many of these damn belters out here, it was impossible to determine what was a real threat. It would be tempting to just blast anything they saw, but he did not have enough ammunition for that. He was slightly shocked at himself for even thinking that way. He had come to this system with a certain predisposition for sympathizing with the locals. His exec's story about that long ago tour of duty here had affected him considerably. But the events of the last few hours had erased most of that sympathy. He still did not like the idea of killing helpless civilians, but when the question of his ship's safety came into it, he found that he could be remarkably ruthless. He glanced over to where Kreiser was manning the tactical station. So far, Ed had not given any sign that he was having a problem with carrying out their mission. LaSalle just hoped it would stay that way.

"They've killed the drone, Skipper," said Landis after a few minutes. "Nothing new to report, except they seem to be getting some sort of formation sorted out of that mob."

LaSalle studied the display and could see that his sensor officer was correct. The rebel ships appeared to be clustering together around the cruiser in a more orderly fashion than they had been.

"All right," he said, "We're not going to give them the opening move this time. Communications, signal _Sarthe _and _Voltiguer_. Tell them to yaw to port to open up their broadsides and prepare to fire."

"We're still out of powered missile range, Skipper," warned Kreiser from the TAC station.

"I know, but the one thing this ship does have is big magazines and I intend to make use of them. _Sarthe_ and _Voltiguer_ won't fire for the first few salvoes, but I intend to give the rebels something to worry about."

"Okay, Skipper."

"Helm, bring us seventy degrees to port."

"Aye aye, Citizen Captain."

[Scene Break]

Anny looked up in surprise when Lieutenant Pickering announced the enemy missile launch. It was another ninety seconds until they reached maximum range and the enemy missiles' drives would certainly burn out before they even reached them, making them easy targets. But then she saw how the missiles were targeted and she cursed under her breath.

"Mister Daley, they're being clever, and we will have to fire at maximum range," she said.

"Yes, ma'am, I'll be ready," replied her TAC officer.

_Coeur de Lion_ and the Belter ships had taken up their firing positions. Six of the belter ships that had Alliance missiles were snugged up close to the cruiser and were using her fire control systems. The others, a few with Alliance missiles, but most with the salvaged Peep ordnance, were also preparing to fire. None of the Belter ships had proper launchers for the missiles. They had rigged them with thruster packs to push them clear of the launching ship before bringing up their wedges. Unfortunately, that meant the Belters were all going to have to cut their accelerations to zero and hang bow-on to the enemy for over thirty seconds to let their missiles get clear.

This would not be a healthy thing to do if they were under enemy missile attack.

Anny had hoped that they could hold their fire as long as possible, and only fire after the enemy did. But now there were already enemy missiles inbound. They were targeted against a number of belter ships—not just _Coeur de Lion_—and if the Belters tried to hold their courses for any length of time, they could be extremely vulnerable, even against coasting missiles.

She was just glad the Peeps had not fired any sooner. There was still a small window of opportunity for her and the Belters to fire—after they had entered the extreme range of their own missiles, but before the Peep's first salvo reached them. It was not the best situation, but it was the best they were going to get.

"Mister Siganuk, tie us into the fleet com network," said Anny. Then she looked at Terrence Daley. "Ready, Mister Daley?"

"Yes, ma'am, let's do it."

"You're tied in, ma'am," said Siganuk. Anny double checked the display. It was time.

"Payne to all ships," she said. "Cut accelerations to zero." Then she switched off her own com for a moment. "Helm, ninety degree yaw to port."

"Aye, aye, ma'am. Coming around."

She watched as her ship twisted sideways to bring her broadside to bear. Then she nodded to Daley.

"All ships, stand by to fire," said Daley into his com. He was linked to the whole Belter fleet, too, and they would fire on his word.

It was nerve wracking. The enemy missiles were only a minute and a half away. They still had another thirty seconds to go before their own missiles would be in range. It was going to be close.

"All ships—_Launch_!" said Daley. It was the most emotion Anny had ever heard in his voice.

Throughout the ramshackle fleet, men and women pushed buttons and missiles jumped away from the ships and headed toward the hated foe. There were a hundred and twenty belter ships and each launched two missiles. _Coeur de Lion_ fired twelve from her starboard broadside and then rolled to bring her port broadside to bear. Once again, the missiles' drives did not activate immediately. Once again, the enemy had no way of knowing what was coming.

The enemy ships entered the extreme limits of their missiles' powered ranges. Daley waited another five heartbeats and then commanded:

"_Fire!" _

Two hundred and sixty-four missiles brought up their drives and streaked away.

[Scene Break]

"Missile launch. Multiple missile launch! Oh my G…" gasped Citizen Lieutenant Laura Landis. She had been expecting the enemy to launch some missiles, maybe quite a few missiles, but not this many!

LaSalle felt a surge of panic when he saw how many missiles were headed his way.

_Oh God! What if I'm wrong! Those can't all be what they seem! If they had this sort of firepower why did they run in the first place? But what if I'm wrong? _

LaSalle stared with wide eyes at what might be his death approaching. But then his sensor officer exclaimed:

"Skipper! Most of those birds are not Alliance make! In fact, they read as our own—standard Mark Forty-Sevens! And there's something screwy with their targeting, a dozen of them have already wandered off course!"

LaSalle's heart started beating again.

"Countermeasures now. Citizen Commander, maneuver the ship at your discretion. Take whatever tubes you need for the countermissile canisters."

"Right, Skipper," said Kreiser from the TAC station. He was obviously as shaken as LaSalle had been—as everyone on the bridge had been—but he was recovering rapidly. He and the Lieutenant at the missile defense station were working to respond to the threat. "It's going to cut into our outgoing fire for a while, though."

"No matter," said LaSalle. "They can't possible do this more than once. After we get through it, we can start the battle again_."_

Under normal circumstances _PNS Mars la Tour_ would have been in serious trouble. Two hundred and sixty-four state of the art missiles would have been more than enough to destroy not only her, but her two consorts. But as Gerard LaSalle was beginning to suspect, most of the incoming missiles were not even close to being state of the art. Almost immediately, missiles began to lose their target locks. Either the jury-rigged guidance systems the belters had built failed, or they had been fed incorrect data by the equally jury-rigged fire control systems. Others succumbed to the electronic countermeasures of their targets. Within a minute, the two hundred and sixty-four had dropped to less than two hundred.

But two hundred was still a lot of missiles. LaSalle had his suspicions about the warheads on those missiles, too, but there was no way they could ignore the potential danger, so they had to deal with all of them. Countermissiles were launched as rapidly as their controlling computers could handle them. All three of the Havenite vessels were dependent on canister type CMs launched from their regular tubes. This seriously cutinto the number of offensive missiles they could launch, but as their commander had said: that could wait until later—assuming they survived this.

[Scene Break]

Anny watched as her massive salvo started to shrivel away. She had fully expected this, but it was still daunting. Realistically, she had only hoped that the mass of salvaged missiles would help her own missiles get through. But there was still the chance for something more…

After firing, the belter ships had turned and rolled wedges. Until the range got much closer, they were now weaponless. _Coeur de Lion_ remained broadside-on to the enemy and continued to fire missiles. She was their only offensive weapon now.

And she launched countermissiles, too. The first Peep salvo, twenty-six missiles strong—and much to Anny's relief composed of standard destroyer-grade shipkillers—were knocked down or did no damage. Without power they were easy targets for both countermissiles and laser clusters. The second salvo was the same, although they had power until considerably closer. The third salvo nearly reached them under power and several did reach attack range but only hit the wedges of a few Belter ships.

The fourth and fifth salvoes were larger; the enemy had reached powered range by this time and the destroyer and frigate had joined in. There were only four missiles from the destroyer which Lieutenant Pickering had tentatively identified as a _Bastogne_ class. That was a blessing, but it still meant there were thirty-three missiles in the combined salvo. They had just been launched when the Peeps were forced to react to the Fleet's missiles. The destroyer and frigate stopped their offensive fire as they switched to countermissile canisters. Anny had expected that, but she was extremely relieved when the next salvo from the battleship only contained eighteen missiles.

"Looks like they did a minimum refit on the battleship," she said aloud. "They have to use their main tubes for their countermissiles."

"Yes, ma'am," said Daley. Anny looked and saw that he and Ensign Tanner were fully occupied in their duty. The enemy's fourth salvo would reach them about the same time as their own first would reach the enemy—about twenty seconds from now.

[Scene Break]

LaSalle watched the huge enemy salvo closing in on his ships. His electronic countermeasures had been very effective. So had his countermissiles. But there were still over a hundred left and he instinctively braced himself as they entered attack range.

_Mars la Tour_ shook and shook again as X-ray lasers clawed at her. It was not as bad a shaking as he had expected—this ship was far more massive than his last one. Even so, damage alarms sounded and his bridge crew began talking excitedly.

"Multiple hits along starboard side!' said his damage control officer, quite unnecessarily.

But the ship was still alive and as he watched, LaSalle realized his guess had been correct. Only a fraction of those missiles had laser warheads. Most of them had not detonated at standard attack range and had kept coming in a vain hope of scoring a direct hit with contact nukes. His ships' laser clusters smashed them by the score atminimum range. Some flew on by and several actually impacted on sidewalls. LaSalle shuddered at that; if their sidewall penetrators had functioned…

"Damage report!" he snapped as the last of the salvo disappeared from the screen.

"We took about fifteen hits to starboard, Skipper," reported Kreiser. "Five missile tubes and four lasers knocked out. Miscellaneous sensors and laser clusters gone. No major systems damaged, though. We were lucky."

"Lucky. Yeah I guess we were. Five tubes, though, damn it. We better roll the ship and bring the port broadside to bear. I have a feeling we are going to need every tube we've got."

The ship shook again as if to punctuate LaSalle's statement. Only twelve missiles in the follow up salvoes and they're still getting through!

"Right, Skipper. Rolling ship."

"Signal _Sarthe _and _Voltiguer_ to concentrate fire on the cruiser. It looks like that's all they've got left now."

[Scene Break]

A small cheer went up on the bridge of _Coeur de Lion_ as the enemy battleship vomited air and debris from a dozen wounds. It was cut short as a Belter ship exploded from the next wave of enemy missiles.

"Looks like they are rolling ship, ma'am," said Pickering.

"We must have hurt them pretty bad, Skipper if they're doing that already!" exclaimed VanVeen.

Anny nodded. A ship would typically keep one broadside facing the enemy until it had lost between a quarter and a third of its weapons and then roll to present an undamaged broadside. It was as much a psychological factor as a material one: The enemy pounds and pounds to hurt a ship and then is suddenly presented with a broadside as strong as before. She felt good that she had forced the Peeps to roll so soon, but then she winced as another Belter ship was reduced to wreckage. _They're so vulnerable! How are we going to protect them?_

"Shift in firing pattern!" announced Daley. "All three ships are firing at us now."

_Well, that answers that question!_

"Mister Siganuk, tell the Belters to stand off from us a ways. It is going to get hot around here very shortly. Not too far, though! If the Peeps shift again, we want to be able to give them some cover."

"Aye aye, ma'am," said Andrew Siganuk.

Anny leaned back in her chair. She had used her last trick. From this point on it would be a straight pounding match. Twelve tubes against over thirty. And she had less than six hundred missiles left in the broadside magazines.

For a few minutes things went well. The smaller enemy salvoes were handled without a hit and several of their own got through to score on the battleship. But then the bigger salvoes started coming in again and there were just too many of them. The ship twitched as the first of them eluded their defenses.

"Hit forward," said Patric. "Radar twelve and countermissile launcher fourteen damaged."

From there on, it just got worse.

Anny looked on in quiet desperation as her ship was slowly reduced to junk. Missile tubes and lasers, sensors and sidewall generators, fuels tanks and impeller nodes were damaged or destroyed. They were hurting the enemy, too, it was true. But not enough; not enough.

And her people were dying. Casualties were being taken to Sick Bay. Corpses were being left where they fell. Her people scrambled to make repairs and take the places of slain comrades.

_What do I do now? We could break off if we did it soon. But the Peeps are still coming on and there are still Belters in the area. What do I do?_

She had no answer and her ship shook again and again.

[Scene Break]

"Damn!" exclaimed LaSalle aloud as _Mars la Tour_ took another hit.

"Sorry, Citizen Captain," said the missile defense officer sitting next to Kreiser. "The enemy guidance systems are very good."

_As if you need to tell me that!_

They had not been seriously hurt yet. More weapons had been lost and a number of sensors. Two impeller nodes had gone, too and their acceleration had dropped noticeably. It wasn't critical, but he was becoming increasingly irritated by the fact that a miserable little cruiser was scoring as many hits as his ships were with less than half as many tubes firing. To top it off, Ed Kreiser had been right about the quality of their damage control parties. Repairs were going far too slowly and more teams were not reporting than casualties could possibly account for.

Still, it was only a matter of time before the cruiser's luck ran out; but what if his luck ran out first? His thin-skinned vessel was just as vulnerable to a crippling blow. It was only her much larger size that reduced the odds of it happening.

_Maybe it's time to make a move._

"Communications, signal _Sarthe_ and _Voltiguer_ to shift their fire back to the other rebel ships. Tactical, go to rapid fire on all tubes. Let's see if we can stretch their defenses past the breaking point."

"Aye, aye, Citizen Captain."

[Scene Break]

"Shift in firing pattern! The tin can and the frigate are going after the Belters again, ma'am," said Daley. "The battleship has gone to rapid fire."

"Give them whatever protection you can, Mister Daley," said Anny.

"Aye, ma'am, but it won't be much."

Anny had been praying for a miracle, but she had not gotten one. They had hit the battleship again and again. Its fire had dropped and so had its speed, but it was still fighting, and still closing. Anny had been forced to roll her own ship. She had lost too many weapons from her starboard broadside and the sidewall was becoming dangerously weak with the loss of three of the generators. She had talked to Leighton and suggested that he scatter his ships while she ran for the hyper limit, but he had told her to hang on for a little longer and the Reserve Fleet would be ready to assist them. She had no idea what sort of assistance they could give.

Now the battleship's missiles were coming in twice as frequently and she had to spare some of her already inadequate defenses to try and protect the Belter ships as well. They were hit repeatedly. The fresh broadside soon looked like the other one—and Belter ships were dying anyway.

_I've got to do something! Well, the bastards are picking on our weaklings—two can play at that game!_

"Tactical, shift fire to the destroyer. Rapid fire on all tubes."

"But… Aye, aye, ma'am," said Daley in surprise.

The Peeps were taken by surprise, too, it seemed. The destroyer received several hits in rapid succession. Then her wedge strength dropped significantly. She rolled up on her side and tried to fall back behind the battleship.

"Well done, Mister Daley," said Anny. "Now do it to the frigate."

But before he could even respond, the ship shook with another hit and then a moment later lurched violently.

"Sidewalls are down!" exclaimed Patric.

"We've lost the main and secondary power feeds to the forward pairs of generators," confirmed VanVeen. "The others can't take up the load; we've lost too many of them."

"Can you repair it?" asked Anny anxiously.

"I don't know," said Patric. "I'm sending DC teams now."

"Helm, spin the ship. Time the roll so our wedge is to the enemy when their salvoes arrive. Mister Daley, that may interfere with your shooting, but do your best. Patric we need those sidewalls back!"

A chorus of answers came back to her, but the chill in her stomach told her that their luck had run out.

[Scene Break]

"We've hurt them, Skipper," said Laura Landis. "They're rolling their ship and I'm getting some clean radar returns. We've taken down their sidewalls!"

"Well done, People!" said LaSalle in satisfaction. "Ed, shift your fire pattern. Half salvoes now with minimum intervals. You know the drill."

"Right, Skipper."

The enemy cruiser was rolling, trying to use its wedge to make up for the lost sidewalls. It was a standard tactic that every officer learned. Fortunately, there was a standard counter-tactic. _Mars la Tour_ was now staggering its fire; firing half its tubes and then at the half-way point in the reloading cycle firing the other half. It would reduce the effectiveness of the missiles by making smaller salvoes, but it also meant that the missiles would be coming in so frequently that the enemy could not use the rolling tactic. Either he kept firing and got hit through the opening where his sidewalls had been, or he stopped firing and just interposed his wedge. Either way, he was in serious trouble. Hits without the sidewalls' protection would do much more damage and be far more likely topenetrate to the ship's vitals. If he stopped firing, then it was just a matter of time before he was battered to pieces by missiles that got around the sides of the wedge.

"Pour it into them, Ed. Let's see if we can finish this now."

[Scene Break]

"They're staggering their salvoes, ma'am," said Daley. "What do you want me to do?"

Anny looked on in fresh desperation. She knew the drill: if there was any chance of getting the sidewalls up, or of disengaging, then show the enemy the wedge and try to buy time. If those options were unavailable, then keep shooting until the end.

"What's the word on the sidewalls, Patric?"

"I don't know, ma'am," he answered and she could hear the strain in his voice. "Some of my teams aren't reporting. I'm going to have to go down there myself."

A chill went through her. The bridge was the best protected spot on the ship. Patric wanted to go to an area that had already been blasted by the enemy weapons. _But without the sidewalls we're all going to die anyway!_

"All right, carry on," she heard herself say.

"I'm going with him," said Lieutenant VanVeen. "This will probably take everyone we can get."

Anny watched as they turned their posts over to their assistants and left the bridge. As they did so, the ship shook again violently.

"Ma'am?' prompted Daley.

"Keep firing until those first staggered salvoes arrive and then show the Peeps our wedge. We'll give them a chance to get the sidewalls back."

"Yes, ma'am, will do."

Anny closed her eyes briefly and clenched her fist in her lap. What could she do now?

"Andy, get me the Commodore," she said.

"Aye aye, ma'am." After a moment she was facing Perry Leighton. He was looking very active and animated again.

"How bad is it, Commander?" he asked.

"We've lost our sidewalls, sir. A lot of other damage, but that's the worst of it."

"Can they be repaired?"

"We're working on it, sir, but until we get them back, we can't fight effectively. I want to open up the range in the meantime." Anny dropped her eyes for an instant and then back up. "I'm sorry, sir. We did our best."

"Hold on, Commander," said Leighton and his voice radiated confidence. "Just hold on another few minutes and we'll be able to help. Leighton out."

Anny stared at the blank screen. What did he mean? Was she supposed to wait and not try to retreat? The ship shook again and Anny saw that Daley had been forced to stop the roll. They could not even shoot back now…

But then Leighton was on the com again—not just to _Coeur de Lion_, but on an open channel to all the Belter ships. He began to speak, and as he did so, Anny started to understand just why the Belters had picked him to lead them.

"People of Scalloway! The time has come to fight! Your long years of patience and hard work were not in vain. Our friends, who have given us so much help, are now in need of our aid. The enemy comes here in his arrogance thinking us helpless. We shall prove how wrong he is!

"Remember your families! Remember the dead of '06! Remember your world! Strike! Strike! Strike!"

Quietly and without fanfare, the clans of Scalloway had gathered. For weeks they had assembled around Dounby, waiting for the chance to avenge the hurts they had suffered. The Peeps had not noticed. Even their allies had paid them little heed. But they were there, waiting. And now their time of waiting had come to an end. On five thousand small ships voices roared out a cheer at Leighton's words. Hands grasped controls. Impellers came to life. Ships jumped forward and headed for the enemy.

The Clans had gathered. And now they struck.

**Chapter Forty-Eight**

"**T**hey've stopped rolling, Skipper," said Citizen Commander Edward Kreiser. "I think we've got them."

LaSalle nodded. The enemy couldn't fire anymore. No doubt he was trying to repair his sidewalls, but in the meantime he was terribly vulnerable. He couldn't even use countermissiles. His point defense would only have a tiny firing window and he would continue to take damage. It was really only a matter of time. He almost felt sorry for his foe. Almost. But then he thought about the damage that now helpless enemy had already done, and his sympathy vanished.

_I wonder who's on board that ship? If they're Manties I suppose they might try to surrender. Then I have to keep Zaharus from violating the Deneb accords. It might be kinder just to blow them up. If they are rebels, well, I hope they don't try to surrender. They've got to know what will happen to them. This stage of the fight is almost over. Now what am I going to do about all those other ships out there?_

LaSalle was starting to plan his next move when an astonished cry from his sensor officer caused him to jerk upright.

"New contact! Multiple contacts! Skipper! I…Oh dear God in Heaven!"

LaSalle looked up at the tactical display and for a moment thought that something had gone wrong with it. The display was filling with red icons. Scores… hundreds… thousands of them! An incredible cloud of red dots! They were in a rough cone shape with the point near the asteroid they were approaching and the open end facing him. A colossal candlesnuffer and he was flying right into it!

"What…what do we have here, Laura?"

"Rebel ships, sir," said the stunned officer. "Headed our way. The nearest are less than three million kilometers distant."

"How many?"

"CIC estimates f…five thousand plus," said Laura Landis in a strained voice. "They…they can't put up the vectors on the display, Skipper. There's no room. But they're all accelerating to take on intercept courses."

"Tactical, what sort of threat do they represent?"

Edward Kreiser's head whipped around with a 'how-the-hell-should-I-know?' look on his face but then he regained control of himself and answered levelly:

"Hard to say, Skipper. Based on what we've seen, they probably have missiles with contact nukes. Our intelligence briefs indicate they have lasers powerful enough to do damage if they don't have to go through sidewalls. And there are the ships themselves…"

_Meaning they could try to ram us if they are desperate enough. From what I've seen today, I think they may be desperate enough._

LaSalle nodded and then started drawing in vectors on his repeater. He did not have a great deal of faith in his astrogator's ability and in any case he preferred to do it himself. It only took a moment to realize that there was no easy way out of this trap. If he went straight on, every one of the rebels would have a crack at him. But even if he changed course, a large number of them could still intercept him. _Mars la Tour's_ acceleration was down to two hundred and sixty gravities and the damaged _Sarthe_ could not do much better. The enemy had known where he was going and had set up this trap perfectly—and he had walked right into it!

The enemy was getting closer; he had to do something now.

"We have to assume they can hurt us, so we can't ignore them," he said to his officers. "Helm, come to three-one-five by four-nine. Ahead at maximum. Communications, signal _Sarthe_ and _Voltiguer_ to close on us."

"Tactical…" he looked up and Ed Kreiser's eyes locked on to his. He couldn't begin to interpret his exec's expression.

"Shift your fire from the cruiser. Target the other rebels at your discretion."

"Fire at will."

[Scene Break]

Sean Magarrigle pushed the lever on his impeller control to eighty percent and gave a wild yell. The converted mining vessel _Grampian Luck_ accelerated smoothly at a little over two hundred gravities. It was aimed at a point in space where the enemy vessels would be in about a half-hour.

All around, hundreds and thousands of his fellow belters were doing the same thing. At last! After years of work and planning they were finally striking back at the cursed Havenites! They were filled with a hatred for their enemy and the exhilarating prospect of freedom. They knew their tiny, ill-armed ships were horribly outclassed, but they did not care. Right was on their side!

Magarrigle was just as enthusiastic as his comrades, but there was an icy dagger of fear in his belly. Not for himself. Not even for his cause. No, it was for an outlander woman aboard a crippled starship called _Lionheart_.

He had monitored the course of the battle through his com-link with Dounby. The Commodore was feeding data back to the asteroid and as one of the leaders, Magarrigle had access to it. He knew that _Lionheart_ had been hit badly. That she was hurt and fighting for her life. Chris Tropio was aboard that ship and was fighting, too.

If she was even still alive.

He could not believe he had fallen in love with this stranger. It had made no sense at all, but it had happened.

And now she was in trouble.

Magarrigle checked over his instruments. The enemy had changed course, but _Grampian Luck_ could still bring off an intercept. He changed his own course to match. There were only two other people on board, so Sean was his own navigator, helmsman and fire control officer.

He glanced down at his newly installed weapons console. His cousin was an electronics wiz and had done most of the work on it. It was very simple: A blue button to initiate the tracking procedure; a blue light that would go on when a target lock had been achieved; a green button to launch the missile they had gotten from the outlanders; and then a red button to activate the missile's drive when the thruster pack had pushed it to a safe distance. Simple. His cousin had set up the missile's own guidance software, too. Magarrigle thought he had done a very good job on it.

Now it was his job to get close enough to launch it.

Magarrigle's starting position had been very near Dounby. This put him among the ships farthest from the enemy. He would be one of the last ones to get a shot at the Peeps. Part of him hoped the enemy would be destroyed long before he reached them. Another part of him wanted to be the one to send them straight to hell.

"Hang on, Chris," he said to himself. "We're on our way!"

[Scene Break]

"Sweet Tester, look at them!" exclaimed Lieutenant Pickering.

The bridge crew of _Coeur de Lion_ watched in stunned amazement as the Reserve Fleet brought up their drives and lunged at the Peeps. There were so many of them! Anny and her comrades had known there were a lot of Belter ships around Dounby, but they were not scheduled to take part in the attack so they had paid them little heed. But now, now there were thousands of them coming to help.

_But can they do any good?_

Anny knew that over half of the captured Peep missiles from her ship's magazines were distributed among those ships and that they had their own thruster driven missiles and those pitifully weak lasers. Could they actually hope to harm the Peeps? But whether they could or not, they were already helping.

"Shift in firing pattern!" said Lieutenant Daley excitedly. "They've shifted to the Belter ships, ma'am! Another five salvoes are still headed for us, but that's it!"

The ship jerked violently as another hit ripped into her.

"Hopefully that's it, Mister Daley," said Anny. "At least it will give us a chance to repair the sidewalls." She touched a button on the arm of her chair. "Lieutenant McDermott, Lieutenant VanVeen, the Belters have launched their counterattack. The Peeps have stopped firing at us. They've given us a chance again. What's the situation with the sidewalls?" Anny knew that the two of them could have only reached the location of the damage seconds earlier, but she needed a repair estimate.

"VanVeen here," came back an answer after a few moments. "I think we can do it. We'll have to lay in a new power run. That's going to take some time."

"How long, Philip? I need to know."

"Thirty, maybe forty minutes. We have a lot of wreckage we have to clear, first. Sorry, ma'am, but that's how it is."

"I know you'll do your best. Thank you, Philip."

She cut the connection and returned her attention to the tactical display. The Peeps had changed course slightly. They were veering off from their previous vector and the range from her ship was slowly starting to increase. The Belters were altering course, too. The huge cone shaped formation they had started in was collapsing. It was collapsing inward on the Peeps. Hope began to build inside Anny Payne.

But then the first wave of Peep missiles reached the Belters.

Two dozen ships vanished from the display in the blink of an eye. The Peep missiles were going to be horribly effective, Anny realized. They had active sensors and all they had to do was look for a solid radar return. That meant a target not shielded by a wedge or sidewall. In that mass of ships, they could always count on finding something to shoot at. They literally couldn't miss. And the Belters had no real defense at all. No electronic countermeasures. No counter missiles. No point defense. And even if they used their maneuverability to interpose their wedge, it just meant that the missile would pick some other target and destroy that ship instead.

"God help them," she whispered.

[Scene Break]

"They're continuing to close, Skipper," said Edward Kreiser.

Gerard LaSalle looked at the tactical display and shook his head in wonder. His first few salvoes had already killed a hundred of the rebel ships. More missiles were on the way, but they were not even hesitating! The range was closing rapidly. The nearest ones were under two million kilometers away. Some of them would be in energy range in less than ten minutes.

_Five thousand of them. All three of us together don't even have that many missiles left in our magazines! If they keep coming, there's no way to stay out of range of whatever weapons they're carrying._

LaSalle had no idea what to do. That had never happened before in his career. He knew he wasn't a brilliant tactician, but he was a solid officer and he prided himself in being able to make a decision and stick to it. He had made a decision here and given out orders, but he knew that it was simply a knee-jerk reaction without any real thought behind it: Find a direction to run and then shoot at anything that gets close! But what else could he do?

As he watched, another wave of his missiles reached the rebels and another score of them vanished. It did not seem to diminish the incredible horde of ships coming at him in the slightest.

[Scene Break]

Anny continued to watch the screen with unblinking eyes. There wasn't a sound on the bridge. Everyone there was seemingly frozen by the spectacle. The Peeps were firing everything they had. Both broadsides and their bow tubes were firing as rapidly as they could. Over a hundred missiles every minute. And most of those missiles were finding their mark. The Belters were dying. Dying by dozens and by hundreds.

But they kept coming.

The range of the nearest dropped to under a million kilometers and the Belters began firing back. A few of the impeller missiles appeared briefly on the display. Many more of their home built thruster driven missiles. None of them struck home, but the Peeps' offensive fire slackened as they had to start firing countermissiles. And still the Belters closed. Nearer and nearer, despite their losses. Then some of their missiles did penetrate the Peeps' outer defensive zones. Nuclear fireballs started blossoming on the display. Anny gritted her teeth. None of them were doing any damage. They were outside the Peeps' sidewalls and could not hurt them. But the radiation pulses would degrade their targeting. Maybe, just maybe, one of the Belters could get close enough to get a missile down the open throat of their wedge…

[Scene Break]

Citizen Captain Gerard LaSalle was in Hell. Or something so close to Hell it made no difference. He had never imagined anything like this. No training exercise had ever simulated such an attack. Rebel ships were exploding all around him. His missile batteries continued to spew out missiles and countermissiles. His lasers were in range now and they smashed ship after ship. But still they came.

Swarms of enemy missiles were closing on him, too. Most of them were ridiculously slow, but there were just too many of them to kill. His ship was running a gauntlet of nuclear fireballs. They couldn't get through his sidewalls, but they kept trying to put one down his throat or up the kilt. Laser clusters were swatting them as fast as they could fire. Even some of the despised autocannons were coming into play. And the nukes were going off so frequently it was disrupting their sensor readings. It was becoming difficult to retain a sensor lock on the more distant contacts—which gave them even less time to respond to a threat.

The ship twitched slightly.

"What was that?" demanded LaSalle.

"Laser hit forward," replied the Damage Control Officer. "They're getting close enough to hit down the throat. I'm not reading any damage from that hit, Citizen Captain, but the fact that we felt it means it was powerful enough to do real damage if they hit anything important." As if in confirmation, the ship shuddered again. "Radar twenty-one damaged."

LaSalle clenched his fists and scowled. They could be pecked to death like this! Even if the lasers weren't powerful enough to punch through to the ship's vital systems, they could damage weapons and wipe away sensors. If they lost enough of them they would be blinded and then it would only be a matter of time until one of those nukes found its way through.

"Helm, evasive action. Nothing too radical, but make their targeting as difficult as possible."

"Aye aye, Citizen Captain."

"Tactical, what's your estimate of the situation?"

Kreiser did not look up from his console and LaSalle could see the intense concentration on his face. "Not good, Skipper. We haven't killed a tenth of them and the main wave hasn't even reached us yet. It's going to get worse before it gets any better."

[Scene Break]

Anny was rhythmically thumping her balled fists on the arms of her chair without even noticing. Her eyes were glued to the tactical display.

_Hit them! Hit them! Sweet Tester, hit them!_

But they had not hit them. Not yet, anyway. And the Belters were continuing to die. Ship after ship was being blasted to pieces.

_We have to do something!_

Anny pushed a button. "Patric! How are the repairs coming?"

"We're working on it, ma'am. It's a real mess down here!"

"Well hurry!" She knew they were doing their best. She knew they didn't need her urging. But the anguish she was feeling, the guilt she was feeling, forced its way into her voice. "They're dying, Patric. The Belters are dying out there! We've got to get back into the fight!"

There was a pause that seemed to last for hours. "We'll do our best, Anny," said Patric at last.

Anny lips were curled back in a snarl, but then she realized she was pounding the arms of her chair in frustration and she felt wetness on her cheeks. _That damn drug again!_

She forced herself to calm down. She unclenched her fists and took a deep breath. Then she made her decision. She had eight tubes left to port and six to starboard. She had missiles, and the enemy was still in range.

"Helm, roll the ship. One revolution every twenty seconds."

"Aye aye, ma'am," said Daniel Radakovitch in surprise.

"Mister Daley, we will fire double salvoes. Rapid fire on all tubes. I want the first salvo on the frigate, the second on the destroyer and then everything we've got left at the battleship."

"But…but, ma'am, the Belters are getting so close, some of our own missiles could… And our magazines are down to about three hundred missiles for the broadsides."

"They're dying anyway, Lieutenant. Maybe we can distract the Peeps enough that they can get one in."

She stared at Daley and after a moment he nodded.

"Hurt them, Terry. Hurt the bastards."

"I'll do my best…Skipper."

The first salvo caught the Peeps completely by surprise. The Belter attacks were coming in so rapidly they had no attention to spare. No countermissiles went out to meet it and point defense only came into play at the last instant. A dozen missiles detonated and an instant later the frigate exploded into fragments that joined the huge cloud of debris that had already formed around the battle.

The destroyer had more warning and with some help from the battleship managed to knock down a few of the incoming missiles. But enough got through to damage her even further. Her acceleration dropped again and only a few weapons were now firing back. The Belter craft came swarming in on her like small predators that smell blood.

[Scene Break]

"Damn!" shouted LaSalle as _Voltiguer_ exploded.

"The cruiser has resumed firing, Skipper," said Kreiser. "More salvoes incoming. One at _Sarthe_ and the rest at us."

LaSalle cursed himself for forgetting about the cruiser.

"Can you put any fire back at her?"

"Not a chance, Skipper," answered his exec. "We're barely holding them off as it is. In fact, I want to activate the ATR if you approve."

LaSalle blinked. The ATR, the Automatic Threat Response system, was rarely ever used. While it was true that computers did all the actual aiming and firing of weapons, and systems like point defense could only respond quickly enough under computer control, humans were almost always in the decision making loop. Ed Kreiser was now asking permission to turn everything over to the computer. The computer would evaluate the threats, assign them priorities and execute the fire completely on its own.

"You think it's that bad?"

"Skipper, the bulk of them are just coming into range now. I can't respond quickly enough and something is going to get through!"

LaSalle hesitated for a moment, but he trusted Kreiser's judgment. They had fought several desperate actions together, including the one where they lost their last ship, and Kreiser had never panicked. If he thought it was necessary, it must be.

"All right, Ed. Do it."

"Yes, sir. Activating ATR."

There was no noticeable change in what was going on, but _Mars la Tour_ was fighting her own battle. The men and women who crewed any ship tended to anthropomorphize their vessel and think of them as living things. Now, the old battleship was alive as never before. She analyzed the enemy threatening her and fired to neutralize the most dangerous. Missiles and countermissiles went out, lasers locked on and fired, entirely on their own. The people on the bridge could only sit and watch.

The enemy cruiser's missiles started coming in. They were firing double salvoes, twenty seconds apart, fourteen missiles in each. Their defenses were already stretched so thin they could not do much to stop them and they scored far more hits than they had in the earlier part of the action. The ship shook and groaned and the damage reports flowed in.

LaSalle gritted his teeth with another impact. His ship was being hurt badly. Still no crippling damage, but every time they lost a weapon, it made it that much harder to fend off what was coming at them. And they were losing a lot of weapons. The other rebels were scoring hits, too with their lasers. Both hammerheads were taking damage and his sensor coverage was getting dangerously thin in some directions. He had urged his DC officer to get some teams out there to replace the sensor clusters, but he was having trouble making his teams respond.

"_Sarthe's_ in trouble, Skipper," said Kreiser. LaSalle looked up and could see that the destroyer's blue icon had almost disappeared in a swarm of red ones.

"Can we give them any help?" asked LaSalle.

"I don't know…Oh God! They got her!"

The blue icon disappeared entirely from the screen.

"What happened?"

"I…I don't know. Something got down their throat. Maybe a missile. Maybe one of their ships. God, how they must hate us!"

"We must smash them all, Citizen Captain!"

LaSalle jerked around in surprise. Zaharus was where he usually was, but he had been so quiet that he had actually forgotten his presence. The little man's face was twisted in rage.

"We'll certainly try, Citizen Commissioner."

_But we're on our own now, and the bastards are still coming!_

[Scene Break]

"They got it! They got the tin can!" shouted Lieutenant Pickering. A cheer burst out on the bridge of _Coeur de Lion_. Anny gave a small sigh of relief, but she knew that was the easy part. The battleship was still there, still fighting, still killing.

The Belter's formation had completely collapsed now. There was a cluster of dots around the battleship and another huge swarm closing in on it. Smaller groups were still on their way. There were also ragged groups of survivors that had already made their attack, survived somehow, and now their momentum was taking them away from the enemy. _Coeur de Lion's_ own missiles were still hammering the Peeps, and Anny hoped that they weren't killing too many of their friends.

She watched and held her breath as the main part of the attack closed around the Peeps. There was no way to tell what was happening. There was a continuous detonation of warheads that blotted out almost everything. Almost everything. They could still pick up the grav signatures of the impeller wedges and the strongest wedge in the group continued to show on the display. It was the one wedge she wanted to see flicker out. Dozens –hundreds—of other wedges went down, but not that one.

The icons for the Belter ships merged into one huge mass, obscuring the icon for the Peeps, but then slowly the mass dissolved. The Belter ships had made their run in, unloaded everything they had, and now they were hurtling off again in every direction. There were a lot fewer of them than there had been before.

And the Peep was still there.

He was slower and he was not firing as many missiles, but he was still there. A few more groups of Belters were still on their attack runs, but then the Peep would be clear. What would he do then? Would they still have to fight him? She looked at the last of her allies closing in and said a prayer for them.

[Scene Break]

Sean Magarrigle's face was twisted into a snarl. For thirty minutes he had watched his friends throwing themselves at the Peeps. He had cheered when they killed the destroyer but then he had watched in growing anger and frustration as the battleship smashed ship after ship, squadron after squadron and emerged still in action. Certainly not unscathed, but still fighting; still a threat. The others had gone in, and only some of them had come out again.

Now it was his turn.

The enemy was less than a hundred thousand kilometers away and they were rushing towards each other. His approach vector looked good and if the Peeps held their course for another minute, he could launch his missile. He was coming in at an angle, crossing the bow of the enemy. The Peep was not pointing directly at him, but his motion would bring him right across the open throat of their wedge. He had to time this just right: Get his target lock and then send the missile off on its thrusters soon enough so it could get clear of his ship and still have time to bring up its drive and go for the target. It was going to be close.

There were twenty or thirty other ships coming in with him from this direction. Dozens of others were attacking from other angles. But there were no more behind him: he was with the last wave. Sean winced as a half dozen of his companions were blasted from the sky by a salvo of Peep missiles.

He reached what he thought was the proper point. He pressed the blue button with his finger and waited while the missile's guidance system absorbed the information the ship's sensors were feeding it. It seemed to take forever, but the blue light came on: he had a lock. Now, in ten seconds he would launch and in another twenty he could activate the missile's drive and…

"Damn!"

The Peep was turning! His bow swung around twenty degrees and was pointing almost directly at _Grampian Luck_! It took Sean Magarrigle only half a second to realize that he had to launch his missile right now—and bring up its drive right now-if he was going to have a chance to hit them.

A million thoughts flashed through his mind in another half second. Possibilities and probabilities, actions and consequences. But the only reality for him right now was that he was the last chance. If he didn't kill the Peeps, then _Lionheart_—and Chris Tropio—would have to go in again.

His right hand hit the green button and he felt the tiniest jolt as the thrusters pushed his missile away from the ship. At the same time his left hand flipped open the cover over the emergency impeller cut-off switch. He pressed that button and the ship's wedge died. He hesitated for a mere instant.

"Good luck, Chris."

Then he pressed the red button.

The missile's drive activated and two planes of stressed gravitational energy came into existence. The missile had a fail-safe built in to prevent it from bringing up its drive when in close proximity to another impeller. But there was now no other impeller nearby so the drive came up without a problem.

There was no similar fail-safe concerning nearby objects.

The missile leaped forward and the upper plane of the narrowing wedge swept across the Free Scalloway Navy vessel _Grampian Luck_. The ship, her crew, and Sean Magarrigle were reduced to a cloud of very small dust grains in the blink of an eye.

Aboard the battleship _PNS Mars la Tour_, the main tactical computer did the cybernetic equivalent of a double take. It was impossible for a machine to actually be startled or surprised, but it was forced to re-evaluate the situation confronting it. During the last twenty minutes it had been controlling the ship. The ATR routine had analyzed the attack patterns of the enemy and established the proper countermeasures. The enemy had attacked in such large numbers that it was impossible to destroy all of the ships or their missiles. The computer had to assign threat priorities and react to them as appropriate.

It had noted that the enemy employed two types of missiles, a slow thruster driven model and standard impeller missiles. It had also observed that there was a considerable time delay between the launch of an impeller missile and the time it actually activated its drive. The computer had factored this into its response.

The computer had noticed the approach of _Grampian Luck_. Initially it had been given a high priority and as soon as a weapon was available, it would be destroyed. But then the battleship had changed its course slightly. The computer recalculated and concluded that the enemy vessel was no longer a threat. If it carried thruster missiles, they could not move quickly enough to make an intercept. If it was armed with impeller missiles, it was already too late to launch them. This particular rebel ship dropped near the bottom of the threat priority list. It would be attacked only if all the more immediate threats were removed.

But then, contrary to all expectations, the enemy vessel had vanished and in its place, less than twenty thousand kilometers distant, was an impeller missile heading directly for the open throat of _Mars la Tour_ at ninety-two thousand gravities!

The computer did not panic. It was incapable of such a thing. The missile was added to the threat list and almost immediately was placed at the top. There was still ample time. A laser cluster was reassigned from another target and swung around to destroy this unexpected threat. An autocannon mount began spraying out slugs as a backup measure.

But the human being who had designed the new guidance system for the missile had not only been talented, he had been a realist. He knew that the chance of scoring a direct hit was very slim. So in addition to a simple proximity fuse, he had added another set of parameters to the firing routine. If a certain set of requirements were met, the warhead would detonate. The missile observed the situation, noting the course, speed and distance of both itself and its target, and decided those requirements had indeed been met. Relays closed and an instant later the nuclear warhead exploded.

The explosion was still nearly ten thousand kilometers from its target, but they were on a collision course and closing at over four thousand kilometers per second. Less than three seconds later, the Peep battleship ran head-on into the fireball.

[Scene Break]

"They did it! They did it! They got one down his throat!" screamed Pickering.

The bridge crew of _Coeur de Lion_, who had sunk into a silent gloom as it appeared that the last of the Belter attacks had failed, suddenly broke out in a deafening series of howling Grayson cheers.

Anny was pounding the arm of her chair again, but her fist paused in mid-stroke. The enemy's wedge flickered slightly on the display, but it was still there. The Peep was still there.

_But that must have hurt him! Sensors and weapons wiped away. He's probably blinded! This is our chance to finish him!_

"Now, Terry! Now!" she exclaimed. "Hit him now!"

But Lieutenant Terrence Daley stood up from his console and turned to look at her. He had an expression of sadness and frustration.

"I'm sorry, ma'am. I can't. The magazines are empty."

**Chapter Forty-Nine**

**C**itizen Captain Gerard LaSalle put his hand up to his neck and tried to clear away the stars that were sparkling in his eyes. The impact that had slammed _Mars la Tour_ was the worst he had ever experienced. Even the hit that had finished the old _Malplaquet_ had not been that bad!

He looked around the bridge and saw that most of the other people were reacting in a similar fashion. Several were not, however: Citizen Commissioner Zaharus and his SS bodyguard were lying limply on the deck. Zaharus was halfway wrapped around the support of the helmsman's chair. The guard was a few meters away, wedged under the engineering console.

_Serves them right,_ thought LaSalle numbly. _If they refuse to sit down and fasten a shock frame around them, what do they expect?_

Even with a shock frame, LaSalle was in pain. As his mind cleared, he tried to figure out what had happened and what was going to happen next. The tactical display seemed to be out of order, but just then, the ship shook again. Someone was still shooting at them.

"Report," said LaSalle.

"We took one on the chin, Skipper," said Edward Kreiser. "A nuke went off in front of us and we ran right into it. A lot of damage forward, I think. All the forward sensors are gone. We've got about a sixty degree blind spot."

"Yaw the ship," commanded LaSalle to the helmsman. "Put us in a flat spin so the other sensors can get a full look around."

"Aye aye, Citizen Captain." The man did as he was ordered, but kept glancing down at the Citizen Commissioner groaning at his feet.

"And contact CIC and get this display back."

A few moments later the main display flickered back to life and he could see what was going on. They were leaving the last of the rebel ships behind them. They were hurt, but they had made it through! Another jolt reminded him that they were not out of danger yet.

"Skipper, the cruiser has ceased firing," said Kreiser. "Still two salvoes incoming, but no more are on the way. Either he thinks the nuke finished us, or he's out of missiles."

"Let's hope the latter," said LaSalle. "I need a full status report. Now."

His officers began reading off the condition of his ship and it was not good. He had fourteen missile tubes and eight lasers on his port broadside. Nine tubes and six lasers to starboard. The stern chase armament was basically intact, but everything forward was gone. The whole skin of the forward hammerhead was a charred and fused mass of ruined metal. Every weapon and every sensor burned away. The blast had taken out a lot of his other sensors along the main hull, too, and the coverage was so thin that even a few additional losses would start creating new blind spots. Two more beta nodes had blown and his acceleration was down to a little over two hundred gees.

But the way out seemed open. There were still swarms of belter ships in front of him, but they were accelerating to clear his path and had been for several hours. They were obviously unarmed ships trying to get out of the combat zone. The enemy cruiser was on the edge of missile range now and was not firing. Unless one of them changed course soon they would draw entirely out of range. He was tempted to open fire on the cruiser while he had the chance, but he was reluctant to start things up again.

He glanced to his side as a medical team entered the bridge. In a regrettably short time they had Zaharus back on his feet. An ugly bruise marred the side of his head, but he seemed alert and otherwise unharmed.

"What are we going to do now, Citizen Captain?" he demanded.

LaSalle let out a long sigh. "We have broken through the rebels, Citizen Commissioner. But we have lost _Sarthe_ and _Voltiguer_ and sustained very heavy damage ourselves. At this point I plan to head for Stronsay to rendezvous with our other ships and make some repairs. In a week or so we can expect the second convoy to arrive with powerful reinforcements. At that point Citizen Commodore LeClerque will be in command and we will follow his orders."

"And what of the other rebel ships? Especially that cruiser? They are still in range and yet you are not firing at them. Do you intend to let them escape?"

"Our magazines are below twenty percent," said LaSalle as patiently as he could. "The enemy cruiser is at extreme range, if we open fire on them again, I am sure they would turn away and disengage—they are much faster than us now."

"So you will let them all escape?" repeated Zaharus.

"Hardly all. Hardly all. How many of the rebel ships did we destroy in the battle, Citizen Commander?"

"About two thousand, Citizen Captain," said Edward Kreiser in a low voice.

"That means that over three thousand escaped. And that cruiser will have a chance to be repaired and fight us another day. I must insist you continue the battle Citizen Captain."

"Citizen Commissioner. As I explained, there is no way we can force the cruiser to fight. The other rebels are also drawing out of range rapidly. We could certainly kill a few more of them, but with our ammunition so low—and with no guarantee of a resupply until the convoy arrives—I would prefer to conserve our missiles."

"I cannot approve this," said Zaharus. He seemed to draw himself up. "The cruiser is the most dangerous foe. It must be destroyed."

"But there is no way we can force them…"

"They tried to break off once before and you forced them to fight Citizen Captain," said Zaharus.

"Yes, by threatening the other rebel ships," admitted LaSalle. "But now, virtually all the smaller rebel ships are heading in the opposite direction. We can't chase them and the cruiser doesn't need to intervene."

"What about all those contacts that still lie ahead of us?" asked Zaharus, pointing to the cloud of dots on the display. "If you were to attack them, the cruiser may attempt to help."

LaSalle looked at what Zaharus was referring to and a chill ran through him. He realized that the Citizen Commissioner had led him into a trap as insidious as the one he had just fought his way out of.

"We have every reason to believe that those are all non-combatants…"

"There are no non-combatants in this system!" roared Zaharus and his face turned a bright red. "They are traitors and the enemy! You will attack them or I will have you arrested and a more loyal officer placed in command!" He put his hand on the holster of the pulser he always wore, and he glanced at the new SS man who had just arrived to replace the injured one.

LaSalle froze and just stared at the hateful little man. He could sense Ed Kreiser off to the side, but he did not dare look at him. Then his gaze shifted to the tactical display. Most of the small, slow ships that had been near the asteroid were out of missile range, or soon would be as they fled. But there were still a lot that were in range, and there was the asteroid itself…

It was wrong. He knew it was wrong. But what choice did he have? From a strictly military viewpoint Zaharus was correct. Every one of those ships was now a legitimate target. No court martial would have the slightest sympathy for him if he refused.

"Very well," he heard himself saying. "We will turn toward the cruiser and open fire on the nearby craft. Perhaps that will force the cruiser to engage us. However, if it does not, I will not use up all my ammunition on these other targets."

"Fair enough, Citizen Captain," said Zaharus with a slight smile. "I'm glad you have made the right decision."

[Scene Break]

"Status change," announced Lieutenant Pickering. "The Peep has changed course and is trying to close on us. Launching missiles and…Oh! Those bastards are firing on the civilian craft!"

Anny looked up in surprise. The range had continued to open and the Peeps had done nothing except destroy a last few missiles that the Belters had fired in their direction. It was obvious that they were badly hurt and she had growing hope that they were planning to disengage. She was perfectly willing to let them do that at this point—there was little she could have done to prevent it even if she had wanted to.

But now…what were they doing? The last few hours had drained her to the extent she could barely generate any real horror as she watched a dozen belter craft blown to bits. She tried to feel anger, but it was just a dull ache inside her. Another salvo left the battleship to claim more victims. But then a single missile streaked out and a minute later exploded a few hundred kilometers from the asteroid base of Dounby. After that, the Peeps stopped firing. Their vector was slowly bending around and soon the range would start dropping again. A few minutes after that, they would be in missile range again.

It was a clear message to her: Come back and fight or the innocents would pay. There were nearly ten thousand people living on Dounby. The Tester knew how many others were in all those ships. There was no choice about what she was going to do next and she knew it.

"Mister Radakovitch, come twenty degrees to port. We will pull ahead of the enemy and then turn to close to energy range. Coordinate with Mister Daley so we can use our bow tube without giving them a throat shot. Mister Daley, send some of your ammo handlers to the after magazine. See if they can transfer a few missiles to the broadside magazines."

There was a long moment of silence and then both men said: "Aye aye, ma'am."

[Scene Break]

"It worked, Skipper," said Laura Landis. "They're coming back toward us." LaSalle could not tell what was in her voice. Relief that they would not have to slaughter any more civilians? Concern that they would have to fight again? Contempt at Zaharus—or at him?

He was not sure how he felt himself. But at least he would be fighting a warship, not unarmed civilians.

"They are on a converging course, Skipper," said Kreiser. "But not closing too fast. I think they want to get ahead of us."

"So they can close to energy range without giving us a throat shot, yes. They must really be out of missiles. Well, let's make sure they don't make it to energy range. Okay, Citizen Commander?"

"It will take them a good forty minutes to close if they do what we think they are. That should be plenty of time."

"Very well. Open fire when they reach maximum range."

[Scene Break]

"All right, put your backs into it!" shouted Patric McDermott. "Heave!" He and a half dozen ratings and Belter volunteers pulled on the unwieldy coil of emergency power conduit. They gave grunts of satisfaction as it finally decided to unroll. The conduit was supposed to be flexible, but it was as thick as his thigh, massed fifty kilos to the meter, and obviously had not been unrolled for a long time. It did not want to straighten out, but it had finally yielded to their efforts.

When it was laid out flat, it was twenty meters long. Patric looked at it in chagrin. It wasn't nearly long enough. They would have to get another one.

"All right, you four haul it down to Lieutenant VanVeen. The rest of you come with me."

He led the way back toward the storage room. He carefully picked his way around the piles of wreckage that littered the corridor. He glanced out a gaping hole on his left—he could see stars. He checked his chrono and then winced at the ship lurched from a missile hit. Anny had called him again urging them to hurry. They were going in to fight the Peep battleship and they had to get the sidewalls back up.

The job had been harder than they thought. First they had to locate the break in the power feeds. Then they had to clear the wreckage so they could run a new conduit from the nearest junction boxes on either side of the break. After that they could bring up the new conduit and hook it in. It had taken far too long to clear the wreckage. Major structural members had been twisted back to block the only possible passage and they had to cut them. It took time and there was no way to do it faster.

But now it was done and they could get the conduit laid. Just a few more minutes. He reached the storage room and they found another coil of conduit. He pulled out his compad and typed in an order. The grav plates in the path they would need to take back—those plates that were still in operation—set themselves for one twentieth of a gee. He and his helpers grabbed the conduit and carefully guided it out the hatch. Its apparent weight was only fifty kilos, but it still had all of its original mass. They had to be careful to keep it from moving too quickly. Even though it was nearly weightless, it could easily crush someone if they lost control.

Back the way they had come. The coil bumped off the bulkheads and they forced themselves to slow down. As they reached a damaged section of corridor, the ship jerked again from another hit. Patric had to react quickly to avoid being thrown against some jagged metal. There had been no time to change into a hard suit and he had to be careful not to tear his skinsuit.

Finally, they reached their starting point. To their relief, this coil unwound with a minimum of resistance. The first coil had been dragged down and connected to the far junction box. Patric saw Philip VanVeen twenty meters away.

"We're hooked up at this end," he said over the com. "Is that going to be long enough?"

"I think so," answered Patric. "Let me get these two ends hooked together and then we'll see if it will reach back to the other junction."

"Right."

The connection was quickly made; each end of the conduit had a standard fitting just for that purpose. He and two helpers pulled the other end back toward the junction box. It looked like it would just reach.

"Patric! What are you doing down here?"

Patric looked up in surprise and then his shock turned to joy as he recognized Evan Frazier standing there with several ratings.

"Evan! I though you had bought the farm! I tried raising you several times, but I didn't get any answer."

"Yeah, I had a com failure," said Evan. "Just found out about this mess. What can I do to help?"

"We're nearly done. Just have to make the hook-up to this box and that should do it."

"Okay! Here, the box is open, drag that end up…that's it! Got it!"

Patric checked over the connection and then ran a test pulse through it.

"Lieutenant VanVeen. It looks good here," he said into his com. "How's it look at your end?"

Patric did not get an answer, because just then there was a bright flash of light from down the corridor and he was slammed against a bulkhead. The whole ship rocked from another hit. It had been close, very close.

He slowly staggered to his feet and looked around. Evan and all the others seemed okay. Some of them were badly shaken, but none of them appeared seriously hurt. Then he looked down the corridor and was dismayed to see a cloud of swirling debris from where VanVeen and the others had been.

"Come on!"

He bounded down the corridor in the low gravity and then came to a section where there was no gravity at all. A moment later he came to the first body. It was missing its head and drifted slowly past him.

"Lieutenant VanVeen! Answer!" he shouted.

There was no answer, but a moment later he found him. VanVeen was wedged against the bulkhead by a large chunk of debris. It had crushed his left arm very thoroughly and round droplets of blood slowly boiled away in the vacuum. Patric pulled himself down beside him and punched the button on his bio readout. VanVeen was still alive. The automatic tourniquet had functioned properly and sealed off the arm of his suit. Patric noticed another small tear on the leg of his suit and slapped a patch on it. Other members of his team were swarming around now, helping the other survivors. Evan had summoned a medical team.

Once he was sure the casualties had been found and taken care of, he surveyed the damage. The new power conduit was firmly attached to the junction box, but five meters further down the corridor was a massive new tear in the ship. Beyond that, the passage was choked with wreckage. They would have to clear that debris and do it all again.

"All right, you people!" he shouted in anger. "You know what we have to do. Let's get going!"

[Scene Break]

The ship shuddered from another hit. They had taken a dozen of them in the last fifteen minutes. Anny didn't know how much more the ship could take. The damage kept mounting, but somehow the ship kept going. Somehow her crew kept going.

Daley had kept up the fire from their single bow tube. Anny wished they could have repaired the tube wrecked in that action in hyper so impossibly long ago, but even with only a single tube, he had managed to score two hits. Obviously the Peep's defenses were in bad shape, too.

But the sidewalls were still down and Philip VanVeen was badly hurt and Patric was trying to make the repairs.

"Have you managed to reach Commodore Leighton yet?' she asked. She knew Ensign Siganuk would have told her if he had, but the question had just popped out.

"No, ma'am, still no…just a moment. I have Moira Russell on the com, ma'am."

"Put her on!"

"Commander Payne, are you there?" It was a voice-only message. Anny could not see her face, but she could hear the strain in her voice.

"I'm here, Ms. Russell. I've been trying to reach the Commodore. Do you know his situation?"

"I…I think he's dead," came the reply. Anny was shocked. Not really surprised, but still shocked.

"Are you sure?"

"Not sure, but he turned back and went in with the other attacks. _Lothian Dream_ had better drives than most of the rest of us and he was able to reverse course. He told me he wanted to be with the others. I haven't heard anything since."

"I'm sorry," said Anny quietly.

"He was a great man," said Russell. There was a lengthy pause and then she continued. "You're in command now, Commander. What do you want us to do?"

Now Anny really was shocked. For a moment, she didn't know what to say. "But…but, surely command falls to another Belter…"

"No, Leighton told me specifically if he was killed, you were to assume military command."

"I see. Well it won't be for very long, so I hope you have someone else lined up." Anny had not meant to say that, but it just slipped out. Several of her bridge crew shifted uneasily in their seats.

"Commander, I can see you are closing on the Peeps, and I know why. You don't have to do this."

"Yes we do. And you know why that is, too," said Anny. She could scarcely believe she was saying these things, but it was just tumbling out of her mouth.

"I suppose I do," came the reply after a short pause. "I would still like some orders from you, in the meantime."

"All right. Regroup and fall back on Pierowall. Beyond that, I don't have much advice. Try to hang on as best you can. The Alliance will be coming through here eventually. Just try to hang on until they do."

"If that's what you want. Is…is there anything we can do… any message…?"

"Just tell them what we…just tell them…" Anny's voice broke and she couldn't go on.

"We'll tell them, Commander," said Moira Russell with a sudden and fierce conviction in her voice. "We'll tell them! You can be sure of that! And we'll tell our children and our grandchildren and someday we'll tell the Peeps, too!"

"Thank you," whispered Anny.

"God bless you, Commander. And all your people. We won't forget."

[Scene Break]

The ship lurched again and LaSalle slammed his fist down on the arm of his chair.

"They're only firing one missile at a time, Lieutenant!" he bellowed. "Why are we still being hit?"

"I…I'm sorry, Citizen Captain," said the frazzled missile defense officer. "Their targeting is very good and our defenses have been badly degraded."

LaSalle glared at the officer but did not say any more. It was frustrating to still be taking damage like this, but he knew he was just taking out his other frustrations on this convenient target. He was frustrated with Zaharus and he was frustrated with this entire awful mess. Even if he managed to destroy the cruiser with a minimum of additional damage, the events of this day could still only be considered catastrophic. Five ships lost, plus the orbital station and God knew how many other casualties on the asteroids.

No review board was going to be impressed with his destruction of the small rebel ships. _Mars la Tour_ may have racked up the largest ship-to-ship kill record in the history of the People's Navy, but no one could possibly appreciate what an accomplishment it really was. And even the cruiser would not be any real feather in his cap—after all, he had a 'battleship'!

And all of that presupposed that he did manage to kill the cruiser without getting his own ship hopelessly crippled. They were hitting the damn thing again and again, but it kept on coming. He was reevaluating who might be manning it. He could not believe a Manticoran crew would be sacrificing itself this way. Perhaps there were just a few Manty advisors on board and the rest rebel fanatics—_sort of the opposite of what we have here!_

"They'll probably be changing course soon, Skipper," said Ed Kreiser. "After that, another twenty minutes or so and they'll be in energy range—if we don't kill them first."

"I would prefer we killed them first, Citizen Commander," said LaSalle. If they did make it to energy range it could get ugly. He had no doubt they would come out on top, but the possibility of really crippling damage was still there. And he had no doubt if they were disabled out here those three thousand other Rebel ships would be coming back.

"I'll do my best, Skipper, but there are some tough SOBs over there."

"Keep pounding them, Ed, keep pounding them."

[Scene Break]

Anny Payne was in control of herself again. She was terribly embarrassed and ashamed about her emotional outburst while talking to Moira Russell. She told herself it must have been the drug again. Her bridge crew were very quiet and she could not help but wonder if it was because of what was going to be happening soon or because of what had happened a few minute earlier.

_I had no business acting like that in front of them! This is difficult enough for them as it is._

It was about five minutes until they made the course change. Then it was a straight run in to energy range—assuming they survived to reach it. She was starting to feel a small bit of confidence that they would. _Coeur de Lion_ had already taken far more damage than she would have believed possible and was still in action. She was incredibly proud of her ship and her crew. She just wished they could have a better outcome. They deserved better.

If they did make it to energy range, there was a real chance of doing major damage to the enemy. And it would not really even matter that their sidewalls were down. At the range she intended to fire, neither theirs nor the enemy's would provide any real protection. Both ships would be savaged.

But she had no doubt who would get the worst of it.

The battleship was ten times their size. It could soak up a lot more damage and survive. _Coeur de Lion_ would be wrecked, that was a certainty. She just hoped she could hurt the enemy badly, too—and that the enemy would cease-fire before her entire crew was killed. She was seriously considering ordering the bulk of her crew to the life pods before she engaged.

The next twenty minutes would be bad though. The sidewalls were still down and Patric was not optimistic about getting them back up anytime soon. Unfortunately, this was just when they needed them most. As they closed on the enemy it would be easier and easier for them to get missiles around the sides of their impeller wedge.

Anny had already made up her mind that in about ten minutes she was going to order Patric back up to the bridge. She wanted him here with her at the end. No one would begrudge her that.

The ship lurched again and a moment later the ensign at the damage control station turned to her.

"That last hit damaged the hyper generator, ma'am."

Anny just nodded. An hour ago that would have been a calamity. Now, it did not make any difference at all. They would not be needing the hyper generator again.

"Course change coming up, ma'am," said Lieutenant Brown.

She nodded again. Another minute and they would be committed. Right now they could still turn away, still make a run for it. But they would not. There was no chance of that. The course change to port she was about to order had been determined months before when she agreed to help the Belters. There would be no running away for _Coeur de Lion_ and her crew.

"Helm…" she began. But before she could go on, Ensign Andrew Siganuk, at the com station, burst in:

"Skipper! I've got an incoming message! It…it's in Alliance code!"

Anny just stared at him without comprehension.

"Voice message only, ma'am, switching to speaker!"

"_Coeur de Lion! Coeur de Lion!_ This is Commander Helen Zilwicki, LAC Group One, _HMS Hydra_! Commander Brock, we are proceeding to your assistance! Position and course data to follow. We have observed your situation and highly recommend that you break off, repeat: break off! Let us have a crack at that big bastard! Please respond!"

"The message repeats, ma'am," said Siganuk, excitedly.

Anny just sat with her mouth slightly open, unable to believe what she was hearing. It was Helen! She recognized the voice and there was no mistake! But how? How could she be here?

"Ma'am? Ma'am? Do you want to answer?"

"I…uh, yes, Mister Siganuk, just a moment," said Anny in a daze.

"Mister Radakovich, come sixty degrees to starboard, please."

"Yes, ma'am!"

"Andy, record a message for transmission."

"Go ahead, ma'am."

She tried to speak, but her voice did not want to work right. There was a tightness in her throat that seemed to choke off the sound. After a few moments she finally got something to come out.

"This…This is Commander Andreanne Payne. Commanding officer of _GNS…GNS…Lionheart_. Message received. We are following your recommendation. Good to see you again, Helen. Thanks for coming to find us. Now I owe you one. Payne out."

"On the chip, ma'am!"

"Send it."

Anny was trembling and her breath was coming in short gasps. She could feel the wetness on her cheeks again. It was almost too much to take. She didn't know how Helen could be here but she knew that she was; and she knew that her ship and her crew and her friends would not have to die today after all. The gasps turned to small sobs and she was suddenly ashamed of herself again. She turned away and put her hand up to her face to hide the tears.

"Skipper?" said a voice.

She turned back slightly and saw Lieutenant Nick Brown at the astrogation station looking at her. He was smiling, but there were tears on his face, too.

"It's all right, Skipper. It's all right."

**Chapter Fifty**

"**C**itizen Captain! The enemy is turning away!" said Citizen Lieutenant Laura Landis. LaSalle looked up in surprise, but before he could digest this turn of events his communications officer burst in:

"Skipper! I'm picking up a transmission in Alliance Code!"

"What? Where's its source?"

"I'm not sure. Transferring the bearing to sensors. Maybe you can pick something up, Laura."

Landis stared at her instruments and made several adjustments. "Okay, I'm got the transmission, now. It's bearing Oh-Four-Three, by Oh-One-Nine. Focusing in…yes, I'm picking up six or seven faint impeller sources. Never would have spotted them without that transmission to home on. Range is only about thirty light seconds, though—pretty damn close. Analyzing the drive signatures now. I should be able to…oh hell." The young woman looked up with a face the color of putty.

"What is it, Lieutenant?" asked LaSalle.

"_Shrikes_, Citizen Captain. Manticoran _Shrikes_, closing fast."

"Good God!"

"What is happening?" demanded Zaharus.

"I wish to hell I knew," said LaSalle. "Helm! Come left thirty degrees. Commander Boerste! I need everything those nodes have left! And charge up the hyper generator! Tactical, cease fire on the cruiser and set up a track on those LACs!"

"What are you doing, Citizen Captain?"

"With all due respect, I'm trying to get us the hell out of here!"

"You're breaking off?"

"Yes, I'm breaking off! A squadron of Manty _Shrikes_ could eat us for breakfast even if we were undamaged. In our current state, to try and fight would be suicide. We can't outrun them, so the only thing we can hope to do is get across the hyper limit and escape that way."

"I see…how far is the hyper limit?"

"Too far. About forty million klicks. But it's our only chance."

Zaharus looked for a moment like he was going to dispute his decision. LaSalle probably would have broken his neck just then if he had—in spite of what the SS bodyguard would have done. But Zaharus looked up to the tactical display and nodded.

"The elitists have tricked the locals into doing their fighting for them. They were probably watching this whole time. They make promises and let the locals bleed themselves white hurting us and now they come in to finish the job and take control with little risk to themselves. Typical tactics for those bastards. And we walked right into it."

LaSalle did not know if he agreed with Zaharus' analysis, but if it allowed him to try and save his ship, he was not going to argue with him.

_Now if I can just save the ship! They will get at least one pass at us before we can get across the hyper limit. And those damn things have got so much firepower. What the hell do I do now?_

[Scene Break]

Helen Zilwicki was struggling with her rage. It had taken her by surprise and she was only keeping it in check with difficulty. It had been a long time since she had felt this way and she had almost forgotten how to handle it.

The last few hours had been an incredible emotional ride for her. First the curiosity about what they had detected. Then, as they got closer, the impossible elation as they realized they had found the missing ship. Then the fear when they realized _Coeur de_ _Lion_ was engaging in a desperate fight-and the agonizing helplessness that they were too far away to assist. The horror when the thousands of small ship—apparently allies of _Coeur de Lion_—were blasted to pieces trying to mob the enemy battleship. The relief when it seemed that the battle was over and the cruiser had survived. And then, finally, the outrage when the Peeps opened up on what were obviously civilian craft and the terrible fear when they saw _Coeur de Lion_ turn back towards the foe.

Added to that was the gnawing indecision about what to do. One of the _Shrikes'_ most powerful weapons was surprise. Helen wanted to come screaming down on the Peeps unannounced and hit them with as little warning as possible. But when it became apparent that they could not get there until the cruiser was nearly on top of the Peeps, she realized she had to act. She had broadcast a message to _Coeur de Lion_, even though it would give them away to the Peeps. She knew she was risking her crews by doing so, but at least she was following her orders to find and assist the missing ship.

The answer to the message had brought new joy and anxiety: Anny was alive! But the ship was badly hurt and apparently the Commander Brock who was listed as the skipper must have been hurt in the fighting. Anny was in command now and that indicated a bridge hit. Had Patric been hurt?

Helen had been jerked one way and then another and her emotions were running rampant. But now the old familiar rage was boiling to the surface. Her hatred of the Peeps was overwhelming the other emotions. They were to blame for all this! They were hurting, maybe killing, her friends. They were slaughtering helpless people. They were still the Peeps and she still hated them!

But this time they were going to pay.

Her squadron was bearing down on them. They were closing at nearly ten thousand kilometers per second. They were decelerating, but they were almost in missile range. The Peeps were hurt and hardly had a chance against the firepower she could bring to bear. She didn't pity them a bit.

"Range, seven million kilometers, Helen," said Randy Huber. "We can fire missiles any time."

"Right. We'll close a bit first, but get ready to fire. Carol, signal the squadron: Stand by to fire. Ten missiles from each."

"Aye, aye, Commander," said Carol Pancoast.

"Missile launch!" exclaimed Penny Harding. The enemy is launching missiles. Fourteen missiles inbound."

"Initiate countermeasures," said Helen to Karl Mondsheim.

"Yes, ma'am. Initiating, now."

"Fourteen, not too bad," said Randy Huber. "Between our EW and countermissiles and point defense, we should have no problems. They must have been hurt pretty bad if that's all they can put out."

"So much the better," said Helen.

As the enemy missiles closed, it was apparent the Peep's sensors and targeting systems were damaged, too. Their missiles lost their locks or were outwitted by electronic countermeasures with surprising ease. Counter missiles handled the rest before they even got close.

"Range is five million kilometers, Helen," said Huber. "We've got as good a lock as we're likely to get, ma'am."

"All right. Carol open a channel to the squadron." Helen knew that as a group commander with only a squadron under her, she should probably let Lieutenant McNierney, the squadron leader, give the order, but she was in no mood to pass this off.

"You've got them, Commander," said Pancoast.

"Hysteria Three, prepare to launch. Ten missile salvo on my command. Ready…_Fire!"_

Eighty missiles sprang from the rotary launchers.

[Scene Break]

"Oh shit," said Laura Landis.

"Countermeasures and counter missiles, Ed," said LaSalle. "You can suspend offensive fire until this salvo is past."

_Assuming we have anything left to fire once this salvo is past!_

LaSalle stared at the tactical display. This wasn't some distraction with salvaged missiles to let a small group get through. This was the genuine article. Eighty first class Manty missiles and they were all headed straight for him. It was the end and he knew it. He'd probably be dead in less than two minutes. Even if he survived, his ship would be finished.

Their electronic countermeasures were almost completely ineffective. The counter missiles did a bit better, but it was still pitiful.

"Roll the ship, Helm. Show them the wedge," commanded LaSalle. So many of the laser clusters were out, there was no point in not rolling. He glanced to his side and saw that Citizen Commissioner Zaharus was sitting at an unused command station with the shock frame closed.

Slowly and painfully the old battleship rolled up on its side, like some mortally wounded sea creature. A few seconds later the missiles swarmed around her and detonated.

LaSalle was thrown against his own shock frame and then slammed back against his chair. A half dozen more overlapping impacts shook him from side to side. The lights flickered briefly and then it was over. He was still alive.

"Damage reports!"

They weren't good, but better than what he had any right to expect.

"Most…we took most of it on the portside, Skipper," said Kreiser in a shaken voice. "We've lost just about everything there. Three tubes and two lasers left, but all the sensors are gone. We're completely blind on that side. Fusion two is in emergency shut down. Another three beta nodes are gone and we're down to about one-fifty gees. The sidewalls are so weak to port, they might as well not be there. All sorts of other damage, but I guess that's the worst of it."

LaSalle was amazed. His ship could still move and still fight—at least a little. He had not expected to survive at all. _The folks who built this thing should be damn proud of themselves!_

Not that it made any difference. The Manty LACs were still closing.

"Roll us over and bring the starboard batteries to bear. Resume fire on the LACs."

"Aye aye, Skipper."

[Scene Break]

"They're still in the game, Commander," said Penny Harding. "Acceleration is down and they're rolling ship, but here come some more missiles. Only nine this time. Range is down to three million kilometers."

Helen frowned. She did not want to use up all her missiles. There was no telling what else she might have to deal with.

"All right, we'll close to energy range and finish the job with the grasers."

"Right, ma'am," said Huber.

Helen pondered for a moment. "You know, Randy, this might be a good time to use that special maneuver we've been practicing."

Randy Huber thought for a moment and then nodded. "I think you are right, ma'am."

"Carol," said Helen, "Tell the squadron to adopt formation Zeta-two for the attack."

"Right away, Commander," said Carol Pancoast with a grin.

[Scene Break]

"They're still closing," said Citizen Commander Edward Kreiser. "Range is one point five million klicks. About two minutes to energy range. None of our missiles are getting through—sorry, Skipper."

"I'd be surprised if any of them did. Don't worry about it, Ed."

"What? Me worry? You know me better than that!"

"Citizen Captain? The Manties are adopting a new formation," said Laura Landis. "They have moved very close together. Only a very narrow separation, their wedges must be nearly touching."

LaSalle, tried to see what his sensor officer was talking about, but then shrugged. It did not really make any difference anyway. They were still coming on and in two more minutes they would blast _Mars la Tour_ to hell.

"Ed, our only chance is to try and take a few of them out before they fire their grasers. They'll probably close on us before firing, so I want all the lasers on rapid, continuous fire as soon as they enter range. Missiles, too. Get as many off as you can. Time the first salvo to get there at the edge of energy range."

"Right, Skipper," said Kreiser, already busy at his control console.

It might work. By draining the emergency capacitors, a laser could fire a rapid series of shots lasting fifteen or twenty seconds. Of course, afterwards the capacitors were empty and the lasers themselves so overheated it would be several minutes before they could fire again. Since nothing much mattered beyond those first twenty seconds, that was not a serious consideration. Getting through the Manty bow walls was going to be the real problem. LaSalle hoped that if he could put enough fire on them, something would get through. It was about the only hope he had.

The seconds ticked off and the enemy got closer.

"I've lost the solid radar return, Skipper," said Landis. "I think they raised their bow walls. Acceleration is at zero."

They were still out of energy range, but Kreiser launched his missile salvo timed to reach them just as they entered it.

"All right, get ready," said LaSalle. They were almost here…

"Fire!"

[Scene Break]

_Mars la Tour_ lashed out with her lasers. She only had six left on that broadside, so two of the LACs were not even targeted, although the missile salvo might have had a chance to hit them. But neither the shipboard lasers nor the X-ray lasers from the missiles had any effect on the approaching LACs. The unusual formation that Citizen Lieutenant Landis had noticed was what Helen Zilwicki called 'Zeta-two'. Her crews called it the 'Zilwicki Star". She had invented it many months before, but this was the first time she had used it in combat.

Her LACs had closed up on each other and from their target's viewpoint they were in a tight circle or octagon. Just before they entered energy range they had brought up their bow walls. This cut off the solid radar return the target had been getting and prevented them from seeing just what happened next. Each ship pitched up ninety degrees and presented the belly of their wedges, their sterns pointing in to the center of the circle and their bows radiating outward like an eight-pointed star. In this formation, only wedges, bow walls or sidewalls were exposed to fire. If an enemy could put a missile directly in the center of the circle, they could get a kilt shot, but that was a very difficult target. Fire from any other direction would hit something other than the ship.

_Mars la Tour's_ lasers hit the belly of the wedges again and again, but to no effect: no weapon in the human arsenal could penetrate an impeller wedge. Some of the missiles clawed at sidewalls or bow walls, but none penetrated to do damage. The first missile salvo, then twenty seconds of rapid laser fire and then a second missile salvo—all were wasted.

When the laser fire died, the LACs pitched their noses down. They were only sixty thousand kilometers away by this time-point blank range for their powerful grasers. The eight _Shrikes_ fired in unison and the grasers blew through the battleship's sidewalls like they weren't there. The thin armor gave way almost as easily and the beams of destruction sliced deep into the ship. Weapons and sensors were wrecked. Two more fusion plants went down, and men and women were killed by the score. The forward impeller room exploded, completing the destruction of the bow hammerhead.

As the LAC squadron overflew their target, they continued to pitch around until they were pointed in the opposite direction they had been. This allowed them to take a parting shot at the other side of the target as they sped away. The recycle time of their grasers forced them to wait until almost maximum range and only four of the shots actually hit, but still with horrific effect. Then they pitched again until they were back in their 'star' formation. This would allow them to withdraw under fire in comparative safety—but this time there was no enemy fire to worry about.

[Scene Break]

The shaking wasn't as bad as the nuke, but it was much worse than the missiles had been. LaSalle could feel the guts being torn out of his ship. Then there was a massive concussion and one of the bulkheads bulged in alarmingly. The noise left his ears ringing. But once again, he was still alive.

"Report!" he called when the shaking stopped. "Quickly, people!"

His bridge crew was a bit stunned, but they did their jobs. Once again, the reports were better than he had any right to expect—not that they were very good.

"Somehow the wedge is still up, Skipper," said Kreiser. "The forward impeller room is gone and we've lost four nodes from the after ring. But the wedge is still up and we can do about fifty gees. Both sidewalls are gone though. Weapons…not much. Two tubes and a laser to port, one and one to starboard. Three out of four fusion plants down. And we're almost completely blind. Gravitic eight and radar sixteen on the stern hammerhead are all that's left. We've got about a ninety degree coverage arc dead astern, but that's all. We're a mess."

A mess, but they could still move.

"Oh, and Skipper," said Kreiser. LaSalle wasn't sure how he managed to make his voice sound any grimmer, but he did. "The hyper generator is gone."

Not exactly unexpected, but that really was the end. There was no way to disengage now.

"Helm, yaw the ship around. Try and get a fix on those LACs."

"Aye aye, Citizen Captain."

After about a minute, the ship had turned enough to bring its remaining sensors so they could spot the LACs.

"About a million klicks away, Skipper," said Landis. "Still headed away fast, but braking hard." LaSalle grimaced. There were still eight of them left. How had he managed to miss all of them like that?

"Do you want me to open fire with the stern tubes, Skipper?" asked Kreiser.

LaSalle shook his head. "Not much point."

He sat in his command chair and looked around the bridge. His people were busy evaluating damage, but he knew it was futile.

They were finished.

[Scene Break]

"They're still under way, ma'am," said Randy Huber. "I'm not sure how they survived after all we threw at them, but they are still doing about fifty gees."

"I'm getting some solid radar returns, Commander," said Penny Harding. "I think their sidewalls are down."

"You want to launch another missile strike?" asked Huber.

Helen looked at the plot and thought about it. They were still moving away rapidly. Not the best situation to fire missiles from. They would probably get through, but maybe it would be better to wait and do it right.

"Let's get ourselves turned around first," she said. "I'd prefer to fire when we are closing."

"It's going to take us about twenty minutes to kill our velocity, ma'am," said Carol Pancoast. "And we'll be out of missile range by then."

"No hurry," said Helen. "They're not going anywhere."

It seemed like a very long twenty minutes, but eventually they were moving toward the enemy again. Another ten minutes brought them back into missile range.

"Carol, give me the squadron," said Helen.

"You're on, ma'am."

"Zilwicki to squadron. We'll give them eight missiles apiece this time. I want you to set two of the birds from each ship for contact detonation. Considering how battered that ship is, some of them will probably get through."

She exchanged looks with Randy Huber.

"Let's finish this now."

[Scene Break]

"Here they come," said Laura Landis. "Sixty-four inbound. One hundred eighty seconds to intercept."

LaSalle looked at the display and realized he had run out of time. For the last thirty minutes he had been thinking about what he was going to have to do. Now he had to do it. He got up from his chair.

"Citizen Commander Boerste, strike the wedge."

"Sir?"

"You heard me. Do it."

"What are you doing?" demanded Citizen Commissioner Zaharus.

"I'm surrendering my ship."

"No! I won't permit it! Belay that order, Citizen Commander!"

"There's no choice!" said LaSalle. "And no time!"

"The ship can still move and it still has weapons! We will fight to the last!"

"It's suicide!" shouted LaSalle, his patience at an end. "We'll all be killed for nothing!"

"Then we will die as martyrs for the Republic!" screamed Zaharus.

"Commander! Carry out my order and strike the wedge—now!"

"No!" Zaharus was out of his chair and he had his pulser in his hand. LaSalle had suspected—feared—that the fanatical little man was not quite sane. Now he knew for certain.

"You stupid idiot!" Edward Kreiser was out of his chair, too and moving toward Zaharus.

"Ed! Watch out!"

Everything was happening too quickly. LaSalle watched helplessly as Zaharus swung the gun toward Kreiser. They had always hated each other and he knew that either one would gladly kill the other given the opportunity.

But Zaharus was the one with the gun.

He fired at Kreiser from less than half a meter. The dart exploded in his chest with a nauseating 'pop' and flung him backwards. Zaharus was splattered with blood.

Now LaSalle was moving. The rage he felt overwhelmed his caution. Zaharus saw him and the gun was swinging back in his direction and LaSalle knew he would never make it.

But then a large object flew into his field of vision and slammed into Zaharus' head. The commissioner fell to the deck in a heap, his pulser skittering off into a corner. Laura Landis had hurled her vac helmet with all her might and scored a direct hit.

Now the SS guard was moving. The sudden violence had caught him by surprise, but he had his flechette gun at the ready and was turning it on the most obvious target—Landis.

"No!" shouted LaSalle and he lunged at the guard. He managed to get his hand on the gun and push it slightly before it went off. He felt the wind as a cloud of lethal darts flashed past his head. There was a cry of pain from behind him.

Then he grunted in pain himself as the SS man hit him with the gun butt and drove him back with the breath knocked out of him.

He leaned against his chair gasping. Laura Landis was sitting in her own chair looking stupidly at the blood coming out of a half dozen wounds in her upper arm and shoulder.

_How much time is left?_ Thought LaSalle frantically. He pulled himself up and faced the SS man who now had his gun trained on him.

"Corporal. I am going to walk over to that console and strike our wedge. You can shoot me if you want to, but it won't make any difference to me because in about sixty seconds we are all going to be blown to hell if I don't!"

They stared at each other for one frozen moment and then LaSalle turned and went toward the engineering console. He gritted his teeth as he stepped over the still form of his friend. _I can mourn him later!_ He reached the controls. Every second he expected to be hit in the back with a shower of flechettes.

But nothing hit him and he typed in the commands that would surrender his ship.

[Scene Break]

"They've struck!" cried Penny Harding from the sensor station. "They've struck their wedge!"

"Shall I destruct the missiles, Skipper?" asked Randy Huber eagerly.

Helen just stared at him, a fire burning in her cold gray eyes.

"Skipper…?"

Destruct the missiles? Spare the Peeps? Why should she do that? A series of images flashed through her mind, each one tinged red by her scarcely contained anger:

Her, as a small child, in her father's arms, sitting on the deck of a ship, crying…

Her Aunt Sylvie, face as rigid as carven stone, but running with tears, handing a small flat box to her father…

Herself again, standing in a dark hallway, outside her father's door, listening to him sob and call her mother's name…

Fists, her fists, as she slammed them in her rage into a ceramicrete wall, over and over until they were bloody…

A ship named _Relentless_, missing its bow—and twelve of her midshipmen…

And Anny. Anny Payne lying in a pool of her own blood.

"_Helen…?!" _

She was still looking at Randy Huber. He was sitting with wide eyes, his hand poised over the red self-destruct button for their missiles.

"Intercept in sixty seconds," added Penny Harding, her voice rising in alarm.

Helen continued to stare at him and then his face fell and he dropped his eyes and half turned away.

Another second went by and then a new image came into her head: A very young man, his face twisted in fear and pain, wearing the uniform of a Peep ensign. She was standing over him with her boot covered in his blood…

And then finally, a Peep marine in power armor looming above her. A Peep with every reason to kill her. The muzzle of his tri-barrel pointing at her, ready to do the job. But the muzzle moved away. The Peep spared her life…

With one motion Helen Zilwicki threw off her shock frame and moved up to Huber's side. He looked up in surprise and hope, but his face fell again as she gently but firmly pushed his hand away from the destruct switch.

Then, after one more long second, her fist smashed down on the large red button.

Out in space, a radio signal raced with a salvo of missiles. The signal was much faster, but the missiles had a large head start. It was very close, but the signal reached the missiles before they reached their target. The signal was received and accepted. Relays closed, and sixty-four missiles blew themselves up less than a hundred thousand kilometers from _PNS Mar la Tour_.

Randy Huber was now looking up at Helen with an expression of relief, but her eyes were fixed on the red icon in the tactical display. She said something in a hissing voice that only Randy could hear:

"All right you bastards—we're even now."

**Chapter Fifty-One**

**L**ieutenant Patric McDermott wiped the sweat from his eyes as he stepped out of the temporary airlock into one of the few parts of the ship that still had pressure.

"Bridge, McDermott here. The connections are complete. You can bring up the sidewalls now."

"Acknowledged. Coming up now. Everything looks good. Great job!"

"Thanks. I'm coming back to the bridge after I get cleaned up a bit."

Patric gave a long sigh. He was very tired, but feeling…how? He wasn't quite sure. Very, very good on the one hand. The battle was over and Anny was unharmed. And Evan, too—he had been badly worried about his friend. Somehow, he wasn't certain how, Helen was here and was finishing off the Peep battleship. He assumed that meant the Alliance had arrived and sometime in the not-too-distant future they might actually get to go home.

But he was exhausted and there was much to not feel good about. Philip VanVeen was badly hurt and God knew how many others of the crew were dead or injured. And something bad had happened to the Belters. Anny's frantic messages to hurry the repairs had told him that much. He had never heard such pain in her voice. He almost dreaded going back to the bridge and getting the whole story.

He reached Secondary Damage Control and gave some instruction to the people there. The ship was a mess, but since there was no more immediate danger, they could be a bit more methodical about the repairs. For right now, the task was to get the injured collected and the hull breaches sealed off and the ship pressurized so they could work more easily.

There was a small head attached to SDC and Patric went inside to splash some water on his face and wash his hands. He was always amazed at how dirty his hands seemed to get while working, even though he had his vac gloves on. While he was washing, he heard the com in his helmet ping. Quickly shaking the water off his hands, he picked it up.

"McDermott here, go ahead."

"Patric? Anny here." He was glad to hear her voice, but there was something in her tone that brought him to full alert. "I…I just got word that one of the last hits we took was right next to Main Environmental Control. I've been trying to raise Chris, but I'm not getting any answer. There are repair teams working on it, but could you check it out on your way back up here?"

"Sure, Anny," he said and his own uneasiness matched what he heard in her voice. "I'm on my way."

The hit had not gone directly through MEC, but several adjacent compartments had been gutted and the passageway was choked with wreckage. From the looks of things there had been several secondary explosions from some of the power conduits. Maybe an oxygen line, too: there was evidence of some fire damage in spite of being in vacuum.

The DC party was already working to clear a way in when Patric got there. They told him they had found several dead and injured, but none of them were Chris Tropio. Considering that she was the only other woman on the ship besides Anny (they had discretely asked the Belters to provide only male volunteers) it was unlikely they could have missed her.

There was not much Patric could do that was not already being done, but he pitched in and helped them cut away crumpled bulkheads and clear wreckage. They found another body near the entrance, but it was not Chris, either. Patric had already discovered a number of bodies in the past few hours and it did not affect him as much as the first one. Of course, he had been through this once before on _HMS Relentless_—but it was not something you could ever get used to.

After about twenty minutes they forced their way into MEC. There had been an explosion and fire before the pressure dropped too low for anything to burn.

That's where they found Chris Tropio.

Patric feared the worst when he first saw her. The left half of her skinsuit was charred by the fire and seemed half melted. There was another figure next to her…

_Jeremy! Oh damn!_

The boy did not seem as badly burned, but the lower part of his right leg was missing. A piece of wire had been tightly twisted around the stump to stop the bleeding and seal off the opening in his vac suit.

The only one who could have done it was Chris.

Patric knelt down and touched the bio readout on her suit and sighed in relief when it indicated she was still alive. Jeremy was alive, too although both of them were unconscious. Several other people in the room had not been as lucky.

The medics were summoned and Chris and Jeremy were soon on their way to the terribly overcrowded SickBay.

_Hopefully they can transfer some of the wounded to the other ships soon._

"Anny?" he said into his com.

"I'm here, Patric."

"I found Chris, she was with Jeremy Carstairs. They are both hurt pretty bad, but I sent them off to SickBay. I think they'll make it."

"Thank the Tester!"

"I'm coming back to the bridge now."

It took him a while to get there. A lot of the ship was still in vacuum and he had to cycle through a number of airlocks. But eventually he stumbled in and collapsed in a chair. He smiled at Anny and she smiled back. She looked awfully tired. He knew he probably looked the same.

"So, anything interesting happen while I was gone?"

[Scene Break]

It was a few hours later when the huge white shape of _HMS Hydra_ and her escorting destroyer, _HMS Alacrity_, rendezvoused with _Lionheart_. Helen's squadron of LACs had already docked and a second squadron was out on patrol. Marine pinnaces were taking control of the surrendered Peep ship.

_Lionheart's_ boat bay had been wrecked but Captain Romney of _Hydra_ was sending a shuttle over to fetch Anny and Patric for a conference. Other shuttles were coming to take some of the most badly wounded back as well. They had to board through one of the emergency airlocks.

As they pulled away, Anny had the pilot circle around her ship a few times so she could survey the damage.

It did not look quite as bad as old _Relentless_, but pretty darn close.

Blackened holes were everywhere. Hull plates had been torn and twisted in dozens of spots. Ironically, the two large openings where Philip VanVeen was planning to relocate the converters from the forward Alpha ring were untouched.

"The Peeps can build a pretty damn good ship, too," said Patric.

"Well, it's like Chief Seaton used to say: a ship has a heart and a soul. Some of it comes from the people who build her and some from the people who crew her. This one had a hell of a good crew."

Patric nodded. The mention of his old friend sent a strong feeling of homesickness through him, but there was another feeling there, too.

"Did we get a final casualty figure?" he asked quietly.

"Not yet," said Anny grimly. "Three hundred and fifty-two of our people are answering muster. Plus a hundred and thirty of the Belter volunteers. There are another hundred and forty-three in SickBay. Whether the rest are dead or just have not been found yet may take a while discover."

_Out of over eight hundred to start. Close to a hundred and eighty dead. _

The shuttle turned away from their ship and headed for the carrier. All warships are shaped the same and space does not give many reference points to lend scale to an object. Even so, Patric could sense just how much bigger _HMS Hydra_ was than his own ship. As they approached, he found his feelings mixed. He was enormously relieved to have the help, but a part of him was angry that they could not have gotten here just a little sooner. He had been told about the terrible sacrifice the Belters had made to save _Lionheart_.

_Just a few hours would have made the difference._

The shuttle entered the carrier's boat bay and gently settled into a docking cradle. A few minutes later, the boarding tube was attached and Anny led the way. There was a twittering of the Bosun's pipe and the _slap-crack_ of hands on pulser rifles ahead of him and as Patric swung himself into the gravity of the boat bay, he saw Anny exchanging salutes with a man in the black and gold uniform of a Royal Navy captain. The sight of those black uniforms and the combat green of the Royal Marine to one side made him more homesick than ever.

As he was saluted aboard by the lieutenant of the side party, he saw Anny and the captain motion to him. He walked over and saluted.

"Captain Romney, this is Lieutenant McDermott, my Damage Control officer," said Anny.

"Pleased to meet you, Lieutenant. You and the Commander have led us a merry chase, but I'm very happy to have you aboard."

"Thank you, sir," said Patric and they shook hands.

"Now," said Romney, "I am going up to the briefing room. I very much want to talk to you and hear the whole story. But I won't expect you for a few minutes. I understand there is a reunion of sorts that really should come first. I'll be seeing you shortly."

Romney turned and left and almost everyone from the side party did as well. Patric felt sure of what was coming, but it was still rather surprising. He looked about and then he caught sight of a slender young woman with blond hair in the uniform of a lieutenant commander.

He and Anny stood and watched her approach. Patric felt a huge grin coming on, but it stopped mid-way. There was no smile on Helen Zilwicki's face and as he glanced beside him, he saw that Anny's face was just as serious. Her lip was quivering and she was blinking back tears.

Helen stopped a few meters away and for a moment the three of them just looked at each other. Then, to Patric's complete surprise, Helen rushed forward and embraced Anny.

The two women clutched each other tightly and Patric would have sworn that he could hear Helen sobbing. Where was the emotionless statue he had seen so many times before? But then he found his own throat tight and tears in his own eyes. He stepped forward and put his arms around both of them and bowed his head over theirs.

It was considerably more than a few minutes before they reached the conference room. But they had wiped their eyes and blown their noses and were reasonably presentable by the time they did arrive. Smiles were on all three faces now.

But Captain Romney was not smiling.

"Ah, there you are," he said as they came in. "This is my exec, Commander Behrens and Commander Lowell, chief of the LAC wing."

Greetings were exchanged and then Romney was speaking again.

"There has been a major change in status just since you came aboard, Commander," he said to Anny. "We picked up a hyper footprint over on the other side of the system. We sent out a challenge on the grav-com and it turns out to be the battlecruiser _Defiant_."

"_Defiant?"_ said Helen excitedly. "That's Captain Loehlin's ship!"

"You know her, Commander?" asked Romney in surprise.

"Yes, sir, she's my aunt."

"Well! It seems to be a day for reunions! But before that happens, we have some business to attend to. Captain Loehlin is senior to me, so she's in command here now. She's picked up a number of contacts in her vicinity that seem to be Peeps and she's moving to engage. Our information about the situation in this system is pretty sketchy, Commander Payne. I imagine you have a much better handle on things, so we'd like to get some information from you so we can coordinate our movements. Here, let's look at the display."

Romney activated a small holo-display and the Scalloway system was laid out before them.

"We are here, and _Defiant_ is over there. This is where she's spotted the Peeps."

"Yes, sir," said Anny. "That's the asteroid base Stronsay. The Peeps were off-loading troops there to put down an uprising by the locals. As far as we know there are three troop transports escorted by two destroyers and a frigate and some LACs. There are two more frigates and some LACs over by this other asteroid, Pierowall, and two more transports and a frigate near the fourth planet. The locals are in full revolt, sir. Now, if we were to…"

[Scene Break]

Patric rolled out of his bunk and checked the time. He had actually slept for six hours and felt almost human. His cabin had somehow survived the battle but the plumbing connections were out. He settled for a sponge bath with some bottled water. Laundry service had been somewhat disrupted, too, but he managed to find a uniform that was not too dirty. He was just glad to be out of his skinsuit. Pressure had been restored to enough areas that he could get around without going through airlocks.

A short while later he was on the bridge. Anny was there. She looked a little less exhausted than she had yesterday, but there were still dark circles under her eyes. She smiled when she saw him.

"Nearly there," she said.

He nodded and sat down at his station. _Lionheart_ was approaching the asteroid base at Pierowall. It was slightly amazing, but for the first time in months, they were not worried about the Peeps. They were gone—or nearly so. _Defiant_ had descended on Stronsay and captured the three transports that could not escape across the hyper limit quickly enough. A squadron of LACs from _Hydra_ had bagged the two transports that were trying to get away from the fourth planet. All the escorts had gotten away unfortunately, but they had hypered out and hopefully would not be back. The two frigates that had been at Pierowall, and apparently all the remaining Peep LACs were still out there somewhere, but they had fled at the approach of _Hydra_ and _Lionheart_. They were in the outer system beyond detection range. There were still Peeps on the planet itself, and Patric did not know what was going to be done about them.

It had been as simple as that: the Peeps were gone and _Lionheart_ had not had to fire another shot. Patric felt another pang of regret that the other ships had not come sooner and saved all those lives.

Now they were rendezvousing with _Defiant_ at Pierowall to meet with Captain Loehlin. One of _Defiant's_ shuttles fetched them this time. The battlecruiser was not nearly as large as _Hydra_, but it still seemed enormous and powerful next to poor, crippled _Lionheart_.

"What do you know about this Captain Loehlin?" asked Patric on the shuttle.

"Helen always spoke very highly of her as an officer," replied Anny.

"Not that she'd be likely to speak of her any other way," said Patric.

Anny laughed but then grew serious. "Before yesterday, I would have agreed with you. I still can't get over how Helen acted in the boat bay. I've never seen her like that before."

"Yeah, she's changed a lot. But then it's been nearly a T-year since we last saw her. A lot can happen in a year."

"It certainly can."

One boat bay looks pretty much like another and Patric followed Anny through the boarding tube expecting the usual routine. Anny swung across the red warning line into full gravity just ahead of him.

"Permission to…" he heard her begin and then stop short with a gasp.

He was right behind her and then stopped short himself.

"Alby!" exclaimed Anny.

Patric stood and stared with his mouth hanging open. Alby! Alby Hinsworth! Probably the last person in the galaxy he would have expected to see!

"Hi guys!" he said with a huge grin. "You want to come aboard? Not sure I can let you in those funny uniforms. But, the Captain wants to see you so I guess I can make an exception."

"Alby! What…what are you doing here?"

"Well, I heard you guys had managed to get lost, so I figured I'd come find you. Should have known Helen would beat me to it, though."

"Alby…it…it's good to see you."

"Good to see you, too, but no time for mushy stuff now. The Captain wants to see you right away—big things happening!" They followed behind him in a daze as he led the way to the lift.

"What's going on that's so urgent?" asked Anny.

"A big bunch of Peeps headed this way. A few days until they get here, but we've got to get the hell outta here, folks!"

Patric and Anny looked at each other in dismay.

Helen was already in the conference room along with Captain Loehlin, her staff, and Captain Romney and his people. Loehlin did not look much like Helen, she was taller and although her hair was as short as Helen's, it was brown rather than blonde. Introductions took a few minutes and then they sat down. Lieutenant Daley, now the exec of _Lionheart_, was also tied in via the holo-display.

"Well, Commander Payne, I'm truly glad to meet you at last," began Loehlin. "And you too, Lieutenant McDermott. You led us quite a chase, but I can't tell you how pleased I am that it was not after some wild geese."

"Thank you, Captain," said Anny. "I'm glad to meet you, too."

"Commander, I've read your preliminary report. Thank you for putting it together so quickly. I know it is just a rough outline of events, but I do have one question: At what point during the battle did Commander Brock get wounded? The report seems to be a little vague about that."

Anny looked surprised. "Uh, I'm sorry, ma'am, I was half asleep when I wrote that and I guess I was not being too clear. Commander Brock was wounded during the initial fight in hyperspace—over six months ago."

Now it was Loehlin's turn to look surprised. In fact, everyone else in the room looked extremely surprised—even Helen and Alby.

"You mean you've been in command all this time?" asked Loehlin after a moment.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good grief," said Loehlin, shaking her head. "I…I had no idea, Commander. I'm not quite sure what to say, except 'well done'."

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Way to go, Anny!" said Alby. Everyone looked at him and he blushed, but then there were smiles all around the table.

"That pretty well sums it up, yes, Mister Hinsworth," said Loehlin, smiling in turn.

"You've done quite a job, Commander, but now it's time for me to do mine. I've got orders to get you and Mister McDermott back to Grayson. There are Peep reinforcements on the way here and we have to get moving. Since it seems that your ship cannot be made hyper capable anytime soon, I'm afraid we'll have to abandon her. I suppose the…uh, belters, could use her, so we can leave her and the battleship with them. It's stretching the regulations a bit to do so, but that's a secondary concern right now.

"Captain Romney, you have a lot more room on board _Hydra_, so I'd be obliged if you could take most of the crew. I understand there are a lot of wounded and we can certainly take some of them in our sickbay. The Peeps aren't due for another four days, so we've got enough time to make all the transfers and…"

"No, ma'am."

Loehlin stopped dead and everyone was looking at Anny. Brevet lieutenant commanders did not normally interrupt captains of the list, and certainly not in such an abrupt fashion.

"I beg your pardon?" said Loehlin.

"I said: no ma'am, that's not acceptable. We are not leaving."

"Commander, I can understand your desire not to abandon the ship, but there is a powerful Peep task force on its way here. I'm afraid there's no choice."

"You are right, ma'am," said Anny and there was a strange gleam in her eye. "There is no choice—no choice at all. But it's not the ship, ma'am. It's the Belters. I will not abandon them to the Peeps."

Loehlin leaned back in her chair and frowned.

"Commander, that's very noble of you, but we have other concerns right now. I can imagine how you feel…"

"Can you, Captain?" said Anny interrupting again. Patric was alarmed at the tone of her voice. There were tears in her eyes, but her voice was as determined as he had ever heard it. "Can you? Twenty thousand of those Belters died trying to save my ship yesterday. And now you want me to just walk away. I can't do that. _Lionheart_ is staying here along with me and my crew. We'd be grateful for any help you can give us, Captain. Without your help, we will probably all be killed.

"But with or without your help, _we are not leaving!"_

**Chapter Fifty-Two**

**A**lby Hinsworth sat with his mouth hanging open. Anny Payne had risen out of her seat and had her eyes locked with Captain Loehlin. Every other pair of eyes in the briefing room was watching them. He could scarcely believe what he was seeing. Anny had always been the most polite and inoffensive person imaginable—and now she was reading the riot act to a senior grade captain!

But it had been a day of surprises. First, entering the system and discovering not only Anny and Patric's missing ship, but Helen's carrier and a battle to boot. It had not been much of a battle, but that was fine with Alby.

Then getting that totally uncharacteristic hug from Helen in the boat bay—and now this!

His friends had changed, it seemed. He knew that _he_ had changed, but his mental image of his friends had not. He was expecting them to be the same people that he saw leave the _Hephaestus_ boat bay a year ago—but they were…different. And the changes were not what he would have expected in any case: Helen had opened up somehow. She was more emotional than he had ever seen her. Now Anny. Anny was harder and more determined than he would have believed possible.

_Maybe six months in command of a crippled starship, far from home, will do that to a person._

Alby had still been trying to digest the fact that Anny had been in command all this time when this next surprise came. She wouldn't leave! They had a clear route home and she was not going to take it!

"Commander Payne," said Captain Loehlin cautiously, "You are putting me in a rather difficult position."

"I'm sorry, Captain," said Anny, slowly taking her seat again. "That's not my intention, but there is no question of running away now."

"I have very specific orders, Commander. You and Mister McDermott are to be returned to Grayson by the fastest means possible. There is no leeway in them at all."

"I rather doubt those orders give you the authority to relieve me of command of my ship, ma'am," said Anny.

"The people who wrote the orders had no idea you were _in_ command of the ship, Commander—as I'm sure you well know! If they had imagined this situation, I'm sure they would have allowed for it."

But they had not. Alby had not seen the orders, but he was sure Anny was correct. It took very nearly an act of God—or at least a flag officer—to relieve an officer of command of a ship. Anny had not actually been placed in command of the cruiser, but when her skipper became wounded, she automatically stepped into his spot and assumed all the responsibilities—and authority and prerogatives—of that position. Captain Loehlin and Anny were not in the same chain of organization so she could not relieve Anny of her command—and Anny could not turn the ship over to someone else even if she wanted to. Anny could make the decision that the ship was too badly damaged and abandon her—but she was making it clear that she had no intention of doing that.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but my ship is staying here, and so am I," said Anny.

"That is quite a decision to make, Commander," said Loehlin. "Have you considered how your crew may react to it?"

Anny looked a little startled and for the first time seemed unsure of herself. But then her exec spoke up from the holo-display.

"Captain Loehlin, the crew of _Lionheart_ will stand by their captain, I can assure you of that!"

Loehlin looked startled herself now, but Anny smiled broadly. "Thank you, Mister Daley."

Captain Loehlin drummed her fingers on the table. It was her right hand, and the fingers seemed to be moving unnaturally fast to Alby…

"I see," she said. Then a twinkle appeared in her eye. "Although it does occur to me that you and Mister McDermott are here aboard my ship. If I were to order us to hyper out and head for Grayson…"

Anny went pale and inhaled sharply. "I…I suppose there is no way I could stop you from doing that, ma'am, but I would have to protest in the strongest manner possible."

"Captain Loehlin," said Lieutenant Daley, "If you attempt to abduct my captain, I will have no choice but to open fire on your ship."

"Lieutenant!" said Anny sharply. Loehlin's eyebrow's shot up and the others around the table looked decidedly uncomfortable. A lengthy silence ensued. Alby had seen that twinkle in Loehlin's eyes before: She had quite a sense of humor and could make totally outrageous statements in a complete deadpan. Alby did not think she had been serious about making off with Anny and Patric, but this Lieutenant Daley seemed deadly serious.

"You have a very loyal crew, Commander," said Loehlin at last. "I must say that I was not actually contemplating hypering out with you aboard, but I don't believe I'll put Mister Daley's statement to the test."

"Thank you, ma'am," said Anny.

Loehlin sighed. "So that leaves us back where we started: You won't leave and my orders won't let me leave without you."

"Well, to be precise, ma'am," said Anny, "I won't consider leaving until this present danger to the Belters is past and there is an adequate garrison to protect them."

"I see, so you are setting policy for the Admiralty, now, too. What if they don't decide to leave 'an adequate garrison'?"

"I…I guess I'll cross that bridge when I get to it, ma'am," said Anny. "For right now, I—and my ship—owe a debt to the Belters. And debts must be paid, ma'am."

"Well, I don't presume to speculate on what the admirals may decide about this," said Loehlin. "But my immediate task is to try to keep you alive, I suppose. So we'll stay, and if necessary, fight."

"I would be very grateful, Captain," said Anny.

Alby watched his captain frown. It was her thinking pose and he had seen it a number of times. He also knew that she had a temper to match her sense of humor. She rarely let it out, but this latest situation was probably testing her self-control. After a few moments she looked up.

"Captain Romney, I'm going to ask you to send off _Alacrity_ to Holiway to bring back whatever aid they can. I know that at best it is a three week round trip, so they can't get back in time to help out with the Peep convoy, but it is vital to get word back about what is going on here."

"Certainly, Captain," said Romney. He told one of his staff to get on the com and inform the destroyer's skipper. Alby noticed that the gleam had returned to Loehlin's eye.

"Oh, and in addition to any ships they can bring back, see if they can get the Graysons to send some _clear_ orders for Commander Payne."

Anny blushed, but Romney just chuckled and nodded.

"Naturally, I will need you and _Hydra_ to stay here, but are any of your other squadrons close enough for you to pick up and return in less than four days?"

"Sorry, ma'am," said Romney, "The closest would be a six day round trip."

"I was afraid of that. So we will have one battlecruiser, one LAC carrier, two squadrons of LACs and one badly damaged cruiser to face what the Peeps are coming with."

"Plus the Belters, ma'am," said Anny.

"Plus the belters. I can't belittle what they have done so far, based on your report, Commander, but just how much use do you think they will really be? Who's in command of them, anyway?"

"Uh…well, actually, ma'am, I am."

There was another lengthy silence.

"I don't think you mentioned that in your report," said Loehlin eventually.

"It's kind of complicated, ma'am," said Anny.

"No doubt."

"Commodore Perry Leighton had been in command, but when he was killed, command fell to me."

"I see. Do you think they will obey your orders?"

"I…don't know, ma'am. It will probably depend on what the orders are."

"I don't suppose they—or you—would be satisfied with just lying low until reinforcements arrive?" asked Loehlin.

"That would depend on what the Peeps do, ma'am," replied Anny. "I have no desire to fight an unnecessary battle, but if the Peeps start taking punitive action against the Belter bases and unarmed ships—and history shows that they are quite capable of that—then the Belters—and _Lionheart_—will feel compelled to intervene."

Loehlin's frown deepened. Alby could see that she was not happy with the situation—he was far from happy with it himself. Part of him could understand Anny's feelings, but most of him just wanted to get out of here! _I can't believe she's doing this. Why is she so determined to help these people? There must be some story behind this that I don't know about._

"We do have the advantage that we know the Peeps are coming," said Loehlin after another pause. "We also have a good idea of where they are likely to be coming out of hyper. Unfortunately, we don't have the forces to set a proper ambush. If we knew exactly where they were going to drop out, we could wipe them out before they could even get their sidewalls up. But they could come out ten or twenty million kilometers from where we are waiting and there goes our ambush."

"We could arm the Belters with our missiles, ma'am," said Anny. "They did some good with the ones we gave them, and I imagine _Hydra_ has a considerable reserve in her magazines. With all the Belter ships, it would allow us to cover a much bigger volume of space."

"But that would commit them to a close range fight, Commander," said Loehlin. "You could expect some very heavy casualties."

Anny frowned and another silence ensued. Alby glanced over to where Helen was sitting. She had said nothing so far, but she had her compad out and was staring intently at it. Alby had seen the expression on her face before, too—usually when she was in a tactical simulator. Just then, she looked up.

"Captain Loehlin?" she said. "May I make a suggestion?"

"Certainly…Commander."

"I think we need to keep in mind our objective. We want to prevent the enemy from doing any damage to the locals and minimize our own casualties—not just to kill Peeps."

Alby's mouth was open again and he could see the startled expressions on Anny's and Patric's faces as well. _Not to kill Peeps!_ As long as Alby had known Helen, her objective had _always_ been to kill Peeps! What in the world had happened to his friends?

"Yes, that is certainly true," said Loehlin.

"Well, I have an idea, but I'm going to need the services of your sensor officer to make it work," said Helen, nodding in Alby's direction. His eyes got wider yet and they flicked back and forth between Helen and his captain.

"Mister Hinsworth?" said Loehlin. "I imagine I could make him available. What did you have in mind?"

Helen smiled. "Alby, did you happen to bring along any of your decryption software from your old job with ONI?"

Alby straightened up in his chair and tried not to blush. "Th…that would be a serious breach of our security protocols for me to have done that, ma'am," he said as stiffly as he could.

"Yes, I know," said Helen, her smile growing broader. "Did you?"

"Well…sure."

After the chuckles died down, Helen turned to Captain Loehlin.

"Here's my idea…"

[Scene Break]

"Gotcha!" cried Alby to himself. He was staring at his computer screen and smiled with satisfaction. It had been difficult and had taken him longer than he had hoped, but he had done it.

He reached up to brush the hair out of his eyes and banged his hand into his vac helmet. It was about the tenth time he had done that today. He wished he could take the helmet off, but that would not have been a good idea. He was sitting in a small compartment on the Peep light cruiser _Limoges_. The ship had been riddled with holes during the fighting. Temporary patches had been put in place and a few sections repressurized, but the DC people had warned him to keep his skinsuit and helmet on. From what he saw of the wreck on the way in, he heartily agreed.

He had been skeptical at first about what Helen had asked him to do, but as usual, once he had gotten into the task, he became oblivious to everything else. Helen had wanted him to break into the Peep's computers and he had succeeded. She wanted the Peep recognition codes and communications scramblers, and if possible their orders. It might have seemed more logical to get them from the relatively intact enemy battleship, but the Peeps had managed to purge its computers. The light cruiser had been abandoned very suddenly and there had been no time. Of course, it was lucky that the computers Helen needed had not been destroyed, but this time luck was with them.

He had found the computers and they had not been purged. They still had the normal safeguards against tampering, but Alby was prepared for that. The cruiser was old and its computers were several years behind the times. Alby had brought along the latest cracking software and by tying into _Defiant's_ brand new, extremely powerful computer, he had been able to outwit the Peep's defenses.

The trick was not in finding the access codes, that could be done by trial and error and with a sufficiently powerful machine, it would not take very long. The trick was to not let the computer know that you were doing it. If the computer realized it was under attack, it would lock up and ultimately self purge.

Alby had just gotten past the sentry software. He could now put _Defiant's_ computer to work trying out access codes. The fact that his own data files could rule out about ninety-nine percent of the possible combinations would speed things up enormously.

He leaned back in his chair, mindful of the zero gravity. Only the strap across his middle kept him from floating away. He kept his eyes fixed on the display. These first few minutes were critical; if he had missed anything it was possible the Peep computer might still do something unexpected. If he had screwed up, it was unlikely he would spot it quickly enough to respond, but there was always a chance and he wanted to be ready.

But the minutes passed and section after section of the data files were opened up to him. Most of it was of no immediate interest, but eventually he got the first two things he was after: the recognition codes, and the communications scrambler key. A layman probably would have been surprised that such seemingly vital information was not more heavily guarded, but Alby had learned that there was always a trade-off to be made between security and usability. Items like those were changed frequently, so even if an enemy did get hold of them, their usefulness would be very limited. With the travel and communications times involved, it would be likely that the codes would be changed before the enemy would be in a position to put them to use. To have put layers and layers of defenses around them would have been more trouble than it was worth. And to have some sort of auto-purge sequence built-in in the event of disaster would have risked an unintentional purge if there was a power failure or similar breakdown.

Now Alby turned to the matter of finding their orders. Helen was hoping that a duplicate set of the Peep squadron's orders would be aboard the cruiser in the event that something happened to the flagship. It was a reasonable hope, but Alby knew that the orders were probably better guarded than the other items and he would have to be careful. Information like that often had a much longer 'shelf life' and was treated accordingly. He was not quite sure what Helen was hoping to find, but he would give it his best shot to give it to her.

_Now let's see, if I were a set of orders where would I hide?_

[Scene Break]

"Thanks to Mister Hinsworth, we have the enemy recognition codes, their scrambler key and a copy of their orders," said Captain Jennifer Loehlin. "Well done, Mister Hinsworth. You have proved more useful than I ever would have imagined."

"Thank you, ma'am," said Alby, not quite sure if it had been a compliment. He glanced around the briefing room, but everyone else seemed to be taking the comment in stride.

"So now we have a plan, and the means to carry it out," continued Loehlin. "I believe it gives us a reasonable chance for success without committing us to a hopeless battle if it does not work perfectly. The single question that remains is whether the belters will agree to it. What do you think, Commander?"

"I have a meeting scheduled with Moira Russell in two hours, Captain," said Anny. "I've discussed the basics with her over the com and she did not make any immediate objections. I'm hoping they will go along with it."

"Well, let's hope they are willing to cooperate. And by the way, Commander, thank you for _your_ cooperation. I can tell you are not terribly pleased with the role assigned for your ship and I appreciate that you have not argued."

"I'm not terribly, pleased, ma'am," replied Anny, "But I can see that it makes sense and I'm willing to do the job. I'm not totally unreasonable _all_ the time."

Loehlin chuckled.

"I believe that just about wraps this up for now. We have less than three days to get ready. Thank you for all your efforts."

The people started getting to their feet and Alby did likewise. As he headed for the hatch, his captain called out to him:

"Oh, and Mister Hinsworth, for the coming action, I'd like to have you on the bridge backing up the prime sensor officer."

"Yes, ma'am, my pleasure."

**Chapter Fifty-Three**

"**H**ow is she, Doctor?" asked Anny Payne to _Defiant's_ Chief Surgeon.

"Commander Tropio has been upgraded to 'good' condition. Some of her burns were severe and will require regeneration. But she's not in any danger and should stage a full recovery in time."

"I'm very glad to hear that. Can we see her?"

"She's awake now and I suppose it would not hurt her to have you visit for a few minutes."

"Thank you, Doctor," said Anny. "Not just for that, but for taking care of all of our wounded who have been sent over here."

"Glad to do it, Commander. We've had plenty of experience in that department."

Anny nodded and then she and Patric headed for Chris' berth. Anny wanted to see her friend, but she was dreading what she had to tell her. She paused for a moment at the entrance and then went in.

Chris Tropio was lying on her bed with her eyes closed. The left side of her body and face was swathed in bandages or covered with a medical gel. Various tubes and monitors were attached to her. She looked even worse than when she had been beaten up on the Belter base. The memory of that—and who had done it—sent a shudder through Anny.

She and Patric stood silently for a few moments.

"Chris?" said Anny quietly.

Tropio opened her eyes and then smiled when she saw them. "Hi guys," she said. The left side of her mouth did not move quite right and her speech was slurred.

"How are you feeling?"

"Well, a lot better than I ever thought I would when the fire broke out." She looked around the room and then back to Anny. "I see the cavalry finally arrived. They haven't told me anything about how the battle went, but I guess we won."

"Yes, we did—with a little help from some friends."

"How's Jeremy?"

"We're going to visit him next, but I understand he will be all right. You probably saved his life with that tourniquet."

"I sort of remember doing it, but it was pretty vague, Lots of smoke, lots of pain. I hope they can do something for the kid."

"I'll see that they do," said Anny.

Chris nodded and then she looked away. The expression on her face darkened.

"Sean's dead, isn't he?" she asked.

Anny choked back a sob. She nodded. "Chris, I'm so sorry."

"He was a good man," said Tropio and a tear fell from her right eye. "A damn good man."

"He…he was in the last attack wave," said Anny. "He may even have been the one to get the nuke through to the Peep. We don't know."

"When I didn't hear anything—and when you didn't say anything, I figured…" Chris broke off and closed her eyes. "I'm gonna miss him."

Anny just nodded and took her friend's hand in hers.

Chris looked up at Anny and there was a strange fire in her eyes. "I…I've heard some rumors about what's going on. Rumors about us pulling out. You…you're not going to let it all be for nothing are you?"

"No, Chris, I'm not," said Anny. "You can count on that."

[Scene Break]

"Patric! Commander Payne!" exclaimed Jeremy Carstairs when he saw them. Anny and Patric smiled at the sight of the young volunteer in spite of their gloom.

"How are you doing, Jeremy?" asked Patric.

"Oh, pretty good," he said. "What's left of me, anyway." Anny tried not to shudder but her eyes strayed to the missing lump under the bedclothes—the lump where Jeremy's foot should have been. The Belter seemed in good spirits despite his loss.

"We've been in contact with _Long Shot_, Jeremy," said Patric. "Your family is fine and they know where you are."

"Thanks, Patric. I was worried about them."

"Sorry about your leg, Jeremy," said Anny, gently.

"Oh, that's okay. Can't fight a battle against the Peeps and not get a little banged up. And we really banged them up a lot worse from what I've heard!"

"Yes, we did. Thanks to you and your friends."

"And to you and yours. And don't worry about my leg. We do most of our work in zero-G anyway. Don't need a leg for that!"

Anny looked down at Jeremy, touched and impressed with his bravery.

"Chris says you did a great job. I think that calls for some official recognition." Anny unpinned the ribbons from the breast of her tunic and carefully fastened them onto Jeremy's hospital gown. The boy's eyes gleamed. Then she peeled off her wound stripe and laid it on the covers next to him. She stepped back and saluted. Jeremy looked like his was going to burst.

"Thanks, Commander!"

"No, thank _you_, Jeremy. But you rest now. I have to go and visit some more of the wounded."

A half-hour later Anny was standing outside the surgeon's office.

"Doctor, I want to thank you again for what you and your people are doing," she said.

"Just doing our job, Commander."

"Doctor, several of the Belter volunteers are going to need regeneration. They don't have that technology available to them here. I want to make sure they get what they need."

The medical officer frowned. "Commander, as I'm sure you know, we can't actually do major regenerations on shipboard, either. And the treatments can be lengthy. I'm not sure I have the authority to transport civilians back to a base."

"Don't worry," said Anny. "Whatever authorization is needed, I'll get." The expression on her face cut off any further argument the doctor may have had.

[Scene Break]

"Moira! It's good to see you again!" said Anny.

"It's very good to see you again, too, Admiral," replied Moira Russell.

"Please don't call me that. I'm no admiral."

"Yes you are. The Admiral of the Navy of Free Scalloway. We've talked it over amongst ourselves and we still want you as our commander. No one wanted to call you 'commodore' because…well, you know why. And we can't call you 'captain' since every Belter skipper in the system is a captain. So that makes you the Admiral. Sorry if you don't like it, but it comes with the job."

Anny did not really want the job either, but she was honored that they would place so much trust in an outworlder. She was also wise enough to realize that the Belters had probably done it in part to try and ensure continued outside help, but it did not change the fact.

"Well, I suppose I can get used to it."

Moira Russell was in the briefing room on _Defiant_ with several other of the Belter leaders. _Lionheart's_ briefing room had not survived the battle. Anny was going to fill them in on the plans for the coming action. She hoped they would go along with them. She motioned for everyone to sit down.

"Before we do anything else," began Anny, "I want to thank you, thank all of you, for what you did. Without your gallant actions, my ship and my crew would have been lost. I'm just sorry our lives cost you so dearly."

"We weren't just fighting for your lives, Admiral," said Russell. "We were fighting for our own lives and the lives of our families and for our freedom. I'm just glad we could help you out in the process. God knows you have given us help in return."

Anny nodded and tried not to blush. "Well, we will still be needing each other's help for a while. As you've heard, a powerful Peep squadron is on its way here. We have sent the destroyer _Alacrity_ back to Holiway and it will be returning with reinforcements. Unfortunately, we cannot expect it back for at least two weeks after the Peeps get here."

"Will they actually send reinforcements, Admiral? " asked one of the Belters. "You could not make any promises about that when you talked with Perry Leighton months ago, as I recall."

"Yes, I think they will send reinforcements now," said Anny. She did not really want to explain why, but she felt she owed it to them to be truthful. She was still a little amazed about that truth herself. "It seems that I am wanted back on Grayson pretty urgently. As long as I stay here, they will be obliged to see that nothing bad happens to me."

"Does this have something to do with you being the only Grayson woman in their navy?" asked Russell. "I remember hearing some things from…from someone about that."

"Yes," nodded Anny, not needing to ask who Moira had heard it from, "I'm…politically important on my home world. It's not easy to explain."

"Then why didn't they send you back on that destroyer?"

"Captain Loehlin wanted me to go. I refused."

"You disobeyed her orders?" asked Russell in surprise.

"Not exactly. She can't actually give me orders—at least not orders like that. She had no authority to relieve me of command of my ship. The only orders I have are to get my ship back to Holiway, and at the moment that's impossible. So here I stay."

"I get the feeling there is more to it than that, Admiral," said Russell. "You're refusing to leave specifically so they'll have to send reinforcements, aren't you?"

"That was the idea, yes."

"We owe you another debt, Admiral."

"I'm not so sure," said Anny. "Along with reinforcements, they will send new orders that will force me to leave. I have sent a strong request that a proper garrison force be left here to protect your system, but I have no way to know if they will comply. I'm sorry."

"Admiral, you have already done far more for us than we had any right to expect or ask. Don't blame yourself if your superiors don't do what you want."

Now Anny was blushing. This was not what she had wanted to talk about, but before she could redirect the conversation, another Belter asked a question:

"Assuming your superiors do leave a garrison, what policy will they take toward us, Admiral? We don't want to exchange one set of masters for another. I know that is being a bit harsh—especially considering all that you have done for us—but I really have to ask."

"Alex, I'm not sure this is the time…" began Russell.

"It's important, Moira."

Russell subsided and all the Belters looked at Anny expectantly.

"The Alliance has a policy of encouraging self-determination for liberated systems," said Anny. "What that means, exactly, will vary from system to system depending on what sort of civil government is in place after the Peeps are kicked out and how much unrest develops. You seem to have a stable government already and with the small number of Peep sympathizers, there should not be a lot of problems. I would expect any garrison commander to leave you to yourselves."

"That sounds fine, but we don't want to end up some colony of Manticore. We know we are behind the times technologically and we are going to need aid and assistance—especially with the terraforming project. Can we hope to get that—without mortgaging our future to do it?"

"I…now you are getting beyond the areas I can give you any answers for," said Anny. "I may be your 'admiral', but you have to realize my permanent rank in the Grayson Navy is just a lieutenant. I don't know what will happen. I'm sorry."

"Yes, we really are getting away from the problem at hand," said Russell breaking in before there could be any more questions. "Unless we deal with this approaching Peep task force, we won't even need to worry about these other issues."

"And that is what I was hoping to talk about," said Anny. "We have a plan that I think is pretty good. It may seem a little strange at first, but keep in mind that our objective is to keep the enemy from bothering us until our reinforcements arrive. Now here is what we want to do…"

Forty minutes later, Anny stopped speaking and looked at her listeners expectantly. Moira Russell leaned back in her chair with a slight frown.

"You were right, Admiral, it is a bit strange. But I think it may be our best hope."

"I realize that the role of your people—and me and my ship for that matter—may seem a bit secondary, but I think it's the most practical approach," said Anny.

"We're perfectly willing to leave the glory to the professionals, Admiral. I think our people got enough fighting two days ago to last a lifetime. I am rather concerned about Stronsay, though. It seems very exposed."

"Yes," admitted Anny. "Unfortunately, we expect the Peeps to drop out of hyper in that vicinity and that will put them in the combat zone. I'm sorry, but I don't see that we can do much about that."

"We have managed to get a few of the asteroid's weapons operational, but most of the people who are left will not be needed to man them. Perhaps we should consider evacuating them," said Russell.

"We have only two days to prepare," said Anny in surprise. "Could you evacuate that many people in so short a time?"

"I'm not sure, but we could try. We had already secretly evacuated most of the children and elderly before the revolt began. With the casualties from the fighting, there are perhaps a hundred and fifty thousand people remaining. We probably could not get all, but quite a few."

"Then it is worth doing," said Anny. "You should start as soon as possible. I'll inform Captain Loehlin of what you are going to do."

"Very well," said Russell. "As for the rest of the plan, I don't have any objections. I will pass on your orders to the fleet, Admiral."

"Thank you, Moira. We'll do our best to protect your people. I hope you won't be called on to make any more sacrifices like before."

"We'll do whatever we have to, Admiral. But with friends like you, I have full confidence in our victory."

[Scene Break]

"Anny!"

Anny stopped and turned. There was Alby hurrying down the corridor toward her.

"Hello, Alby," she said with a smile.

"Where are you off to?"

"Back to _Lionheart_. I just finished meeting with the Belters and Captain Loehlin and I was actually thinking about stopping for a while and getting some sleep."

"A full day, huh? Well, I guess a captain's work is never done—you should have thought of that before signing up for the job. But can a high, exalted, commanding officer-type spare a lowly jaygee a few minutes for old time's sake? I've hardly even had a chance to say hello with all that's been happening."

Anny smiled. She really was tired, but Alby's irreverent humor raised her spirits like it always did. A warm and nostalgic feeling spread through her.

"Of course I can, Alby. Is there somewhere we can talk?"

"Sure. Follow me."

He took her to the Junior Officers' Wardroom. Not exactly a place for private conversation and if she had known what was coming she would have begged off. As soon as she walked in with her blue Grayson uniform she was surrounded by enthusiastic Royal Navy officers who congratulated her and asked questions about her great adventure. They all meant well and Anny was amazed at all the attention, but it was a bit much after a tiring day. There was a time when Anny dreamed of winning the respect of her peers like this, but that seemed long ago and far away—in some other life. Alby was beaming in the glow of reflected glory.

Eventually she and Alby managed to break away and find a spot in a corner to talk. He ordered a drink for himself and a glass of wine for her from a steward. Anny sat in a comfortable chair and looked at her surroundings. It was like some exclusive gentleperson's club on Manticore. The Grayson's did not go in for such things—at least not to this degree—on their warships, and the Peeps had eradicated all elitist trappings like this from old _Lionheart_. It all seemed very strange and out of place after the desperate months she had spent—and the desperate hours a few days before. She knew that _Defiant_ had fought many a hard battle herself, but it still seemed …wrong, somehow.

"So how have you been, Anny?" asked Alby after they were settled.

"Fine, I guess."

"You look tired. It's been quite a haul, hasn't it?"

"I guess it has," replied Anny. She did not really want to talk about herself or what had happened. "But, Alby, what are you doing here? I know I asked you that before, but you never really answered."

"Sure I did. I found out your ship was missing and so I had a little talk with Admiral Givens and here I am—simple!"

"Simple? Alby, nothing with you is ever simple. But you really did that? You really gave up your NavInt job to come look for us?"

Alby blushed and looked down at the plush carpet.

"Yeah, I guess I did."

Anny was genuinely moved. Somehow it had seemed proper that Helen had found her, but for Alby to have come looking, too! She leaned forward and put her hand on his.

"Alby, that was very sweet. And very brave. Thank you."

He blushed even more deeply. "You sound like your sister now," he stammered.

"Abigail?" said Anny. A sudden chill went through her. "Does…does my family know about this?"

Alby's blush disappeared and he obviously realized what was going through Anny's mind.

"That's how I found out about it," he said uneasily. "They told your family that your ship was missing and Abby told me."

"Tester, they must have given up hope by now," whispered Anny.

"Oh, I'm sure they haven't," said Alby. He was trying to sound reassuring, but it seemed like he could not even convince himself. "In any case, when _Alacrity_ gets to base, they'll send a courier straight to Manticore, I'm sure."

"I suppose." Anny was silent for a few moments pondering things she really did not want to ponder. But there was nothing she could really do…

_More conflicting duties. Does it ever end?_

"How is your family, Alby? How's your grandfather?"

Alby looked away for an instant and Anny knew it had been the wrong thing to ask.

"Uh, he died a few months ago."

"I'm sorry, Alby."

"He had lived a long time."

"But that makes you the heir, doesn't it? And they let you come out here looking for us?"

Alby suddenly bristled. "It wasn't their decision! I had to…I had to do this. Never actually thought I'd find you, though," he ended in a mumble.

"You've changed, Alby."

"So have you, Anny. I could hardly believe it was you standing up to the captain like that."

"I guess we've come a long way since the Academy, haven't we?"

"We sure have. It seems like…" Alby broke off suddenly and looked past Anny. She turned her head, but the wingback on the chair blocked her view.

Alby got to his feet with a sudden grin.

"Speaking of the Academy and old times, there's someone I'd like to re-introduce you to."

**Chapter Fifty-Four**

**C**itizen Commander Rosa DeCampos, commanding officer of the frigate _Lancier_, frowned as she looked at the tactical display. The damn rebels were drifting in her direction again. Only a few of them, but it only took one.

During the confusion of the disastrous battle fought four days earlier her ship, along with _Hussar_ and nine of the LACs, had managed to break contact and retreat to the outer system. The last orders they had received—from some damn SS general before he was captured—told them to stay and observe the situation until reinforcements arrived.

It was the sort of order you would expect to get from some ground-pounder. How the hell was she supposed to observe what the enemy was up to in a situation like this? The Manties were probably hanging around Stronsay and Pierowall. But there was no way she could even get close to them with all the rebel ships in the vicinity. And if the rebels spotted them and reported back to the Manties…

The enemy _Shrikes_ had such good stealth and such good sensors, the first indication DeCampos would have that they had been spotted would be when a few hundred missiles showed up on their displays. So all they could do was hover out here—nearly two light hours beyond the belt-and play hide and seek with the rebels.

And they could not stay here much longer. The frigates had a limited fuel supply and another few weeks would put them at a point where they would have to hyper out to reach a friendly system or risk being stuck here permanently. They would have to scuttle the LACs and take their crews aboard and make a run for it. The SS general had mentioned reinforcements in his last garbled message, but it had not made things very clear. Interpreted one way, it could mean that more friendly forces were already on the way. But it could also have meant that they would have to wait until the other ships that had hypered out brought back help—and that could take months.

It was a hell of a situation. If she did leave in a few weeks, she could be accused of abandoning her post against orders. But if help was not coming, and she waited too long, they would be trapped here. And that assumed that the rebels did not spot her in the meantime.

What a mess! And it had all happened so fast! A nice quiet garrison post, far from any fighting. The people had been friendly enough, and while it was not going to advance her career, it was a good way to get some experience with her first starship command. They would rotate her out eventually and she could go on to something else. But now! God knew what was going to happen now. Those 'friendly' locals had risen up in such numbers and with such savagery, she could still scarcely believe it. A quarter of her crew had been on the Pierowall base and none had made it back to the ship. And somehow, she was now the senior officer in the system! Actually, there was a marine colonel—with no marines—down on the planet who ranked her, but she had no communications with him and it would have made no difference if she had. So now she was responsible for two frigates and nine LACs and…

"Skipper," said her Com officer suddenly, "I'm getting a signal from near Stronsay. It's in our code, but it's not making any sense."

"What do you mean?"

"It's a distress signal from _Mars la Tour_. It says they're under attack and require immediate assistance. Wait a moment… and now I'm picking up the disaster beacon from _Limoges_!"

"What? But that's crazy!" said DeCampos. "_Limoges_ was destroyed days ago and _Mars la Tour_ surrendered soon after that—and they were nowhere near Stronsay!"

"I know, Skipper, but that's what I'm picking up."

DeCampos leaned back in her command chair. What was going on? They were too far from Stronsay to pick up anything on their sensors. The signals they were receiving had taken nearly three hours to reach them.

"Maybe it's a trick to try and lure us back in, Skipper," suggested the com officer.

"Well, if it is, it's a pretty poor trick. They can't honestly think we'd fall for it do they?"

"I don't know, Skipper, but there's no mistake. The codes are all legit."

"So somehow they cracked into the computers on those ships. Didn't the idiots purge them?" The com officer just shrugged.

"What do we do now?"

"Well, we sure as hell aren't going to go charging to their rescue! Beyond that I don't…"

"Skipper!" exclaimed her sensor officer. "Multiple hyper footprints! At least a dozen ships just made drop-out."

"Where?" asked DeCampos.

"Over near Stronsay."

A sudden chill went through her. Reinforcements? The bogus distress signal? Pieces started falling into place.

"I don't like the looks of this at all. Communications, prepare to transmit a message. Helm, get ready to move."

[Scene Break]

Citizen Commodore Ferdinand LeClerque shook off the lingering traces of nausea caused by the translation from H-space to N-space. It had been a long trip and he was glad to have reached his destination and his new assignment at last. Not that it was much of an assignment. Beating up on a few insurgents and then making sure the new shipyards for the LACs got set up and running properly. It was not going to put any feathers in his cap as a combat commander, but it could still lead to some good things nonetheless. It was his first independent assignment since reaching flag rank and if he carried this out well, he could expect bigger things. He glanced at the navigational display and saw that they had come into N-space very nearly bang on target. Just outside the hyper limit and reasonably close to their first stop: the base on an asteroid named Stronsay.

"Mister Heppe, contact Stronsay Base and inform them of our arrival. Then get a message off to Citizen Captain Rocheway and…" He stopped talking when he saw the expression on his Com officer's face.

"I'm sorry Citizen Commodore, but I'm picking up a distress call!"

"What?"

"It's from _Mars la Tour_! They say they are under attack and need immediate assistance—there is also the disaster beacon from _PNS Limoges_!"

"What the hell?"

"More information coming in now, Citizen Commodore. They are being attacked by a Manticoran battlecruiser. They also say that the locals have risen in revolt. They have seized the major asteroid bases as well as a number of our ships, including the frigates _Lancier_ and _Hussar_."

"Good God! Sensors, are you picking up anything?" LeClerque turned to another member of his flag bridge staff.

"Yes, Citizen Commodore. I have a faint read on _Mars la Tour_. They are just at the limit of our sensor range. A few million kilometers this side of Stronsay. I have another contact that must be the Manty BC. Missiles in flight and nukes going off. Looks like our folks are in trouble."

"What do we do?" asked People's Commissioner Eileen Aiken.

LeClerque did not answer immediately. He watched as the tactical display was updated. What had he flown into here? It made little sense, but the one thing that was plain was that _Mars la Tour_ needed help urgently. LeClerque made his decision.

"Communications, signal to squadron: _Spontanador, Vegoid_ and _Nevers_ will remain here with the transports. The rest of the squadron will proceed at maximum acceleration to assist _Mars la Tour_."

"Aye aye, Citizen Commodore."

Ferdinand LeClerque leaned back in his command chair as the battlestations alarm howled through the ship.

[Scene Break]

Alby Hinsworth looked at his sensor display and smiled nervously. _It's working! Great, just what I wanted, a Peep squadron headed right for us!_

"Looks like they've swallowed it, Skipper," said Commander Bryan MacDonald from the tactical station. "Two battlecruisers, two heavy cruisers and two destroyers heading our way. Another heavy and two 'cans staying back with the transports."

"Nothing from any of the Peep skulkers?" asked Captain Jennifer Loehlin.

"No, ma'am. Not a thing. Apparently they did not catch on to what we were up to."

"Good. Let's be thankful for small favors."

Alby agreed with that. He was not a great tactician like Helen, but even he could recognize that her plan was dangerously complicated. There were far too many things that could go wrong, but they seemed to have gotten past the first stumbling point. Helen was hoping that the orders Alby had found on the Peep light cruiser that detailed the arrival of this new convoy had not been passed on to the other Peep ships in the system. In the confusion of the battle, that was a good possibility, but they had no way of knowing for sure.

It was important that the distress signal from the Peep battleship should draw some of the enemy in and away from the transports. Unfortunately, they did not know exactly when or where the Peeps were going to arrive, so they had to start broadcasting several hours early. They wanted the signal to already be out there the instant the Peeps arrived, so it would not look as though it was meant specifically for them. But that created the danger that the other Peep ships lurking in the system would start broadcasting their own message to warn the newcomers. That had not happened, and now the main part of the Peep squadron was rushing to assist the battleship.

Alby was glad the plan was working, but he could not ignore the fact that an enemy force considerably more powerful than _Defiant_ was headed right for them. They were still over forty million kilometers away, but the range was going to start dropping rapidly.

_But we aren't alone. Remember that._

In the immediate vicinity were a few friends. The Peep battleship was useless, of course. They had managed to get her impellers working, but the few remaining weapons were inoperable. The asteroid base had a dozen missile tubes that could fire, although they would not last long if the Peeps fired back. The biggest help was Helen's squadron of _Shrikes_ lying undetected nearby. If things went according to plan, they would not be needed, but if things did not, they might make the difference.

There was more help to be found elsewhere in the system, too. Anny and Patric and all the Belter warships were over by the other asteroid base called Pierowall. The weapons of that base had been taken largely intact and they were quite impressive. The crippled _Lionheart_ was there, with four more _Shrikes_, guarding the captured Peep transports.

And finally there was their hole card, _HMS Hydra_, waiting with her remaining four LACs out beyond the hyper limit.

_Defiant_ and the asteroid base were pumping out a few missiles to make a convincing show. The Peeps were less than an hour from missile range and things were supposed to start happening in about twenty minutes. At least they would not have to wait long.

[Scene Break]

"_Mars la Tour_ is reporting crippling damage, Citizen Commodore," said the Com officer. "They want to know when they can expect assistance."

LeClerque looked at the display. They were still over forty minutes away. They would do their turnover in another ten minutes and start decelerating, but there was no way to give any help for at least a half-hour.

"Tell them…"

"New contact!" exclaimed the sensor officer. "Incoming missiles, targeted on the transports!"

"What? From where?"

"From out-system, Citizen Commodore. I can't detect a launching vessel, but they appeared about twenty-five million klicks beyond our transports. They read as the new Manticoran long range missiles! Closing on our ships rapidly."

"Damn! What is going on?" New icons had appeared on the display. A small salvo of missiles was heading in from a patch of empty space. As he watched, another salvo appeared.

"What is happening, Citizen Commodore?" asked Commissioner Aiken.

"It looks like we've been ambushed. I don't know how, or by what, but this is not a good situation. I think…

"

"New contact!" said the sensor officer again. "Multiple new contacts! I'm reading a squadron of Manty _Shrikes_ near the asteroid and another squadron coming along the same track as those missiles. And I've got a faint trace near the asteroid Pierowall headed this way. Hard to read at this distance, but it looks like three or four possible battlecruisers."

"This just gets better and better," muttered LeClerque.

"Communications! Signal the squadron: Reverse course immediately. Close on the transports. Maximum military power!"

"What about the battleship? Are we going to abandon them?" asked Aiken.

"I think we got here too late to help _Mars la Tour_—far too late."

[Scene Break]

Helen Zilwicki watched the Peep squadron come about. They were still heading toward her and her squadron, but their velocity was now falling. They would come to rest about fifteen million kilometers away and then head back toward their transports. Helen's LACs could easily close the distance to missile range if she wanted to, but that was not part of the plan.

Her plan.

She was still slightly amazed at herself. The plan she had come up with, if it worked, would result in as little bloodshed as possible. She hoped to confuse and intimidate and ultimately drive the Peeps off without a fight. With the forces at her disposal, and knowing what they did of the Peep plans, she probably could have destroyed their entire force. Even without knowing exactly where they would emerge from hyper, she could have set up an ambush that might have bagged the lot of them.

But only at the cost of her own force.

The close range engagement she _could_ have planned would probably have meant the mutual annihilation of both sides.

There was a time when that would not have mattered to her. The ships, the people in the ships, and even she herself were just playing pieces on the board. Any and all of them could be sacrificed in the name of victory. In the name of hurting the Peeps.

In the name of revenge.

But not this time. For once her hate was not driving her plans. Was it just because Anny and Patric and Alby and her Aunt Jennifer were on those ships, too? Was she letting personal factors influence her judgment? Not so long ago the mere suggestion would have horrified her. Now, she realized that she probably was-and it scarcely bothered her.

But it was not just that her friends would have been put at risk. There was more. Much more. She did not even have words for what she was feeling. The best she could do was the realization that after the killing was done, there had to be something left. Once, she had been prepared to reduce the entire galaxy to a bloody ruin if necessary.

But it was not necessary.

Victory would be sufficient.

And you could have a victory without killing Peeps.

Driving them out, saving her friends, saving the people who lived in this system—people she did not even know—would be a victory.

And that was enough for today.

"Looks like some of _Hydra's_ missiles are getting through, Helen," said Randy Huber.

Helen looked up at the tactical display. Perhaps some blood would be spilled after all.

[Scene Break]

"A hit reported on the transport _Cephei_, Citizen Commodore. No serious damage to the ship, but heavy damage in the cargo holds. The escorts are having trouble stopping the enemy missiles."

LeClerque grunted a reply and tried to keep from cursing. The cargo in those transports was very valuable. Technicians, factory equipment and a hundred of the new LACs. Unfortunately, the LACs were just cargo at this point. Unlike the Manty carriers, the transports could not operate the LACs. They would have to be unloaded and prepped for service. A process that would take days under the best circumstances. It certainly could not be done under fire!

The fact that there were only nine missiles in each enemy salvo indicated that one of those very carriers was out there right now. That puzzled LeClerque. So far they had only spotted two squadrons of LACs. Where were the rest? And if the enemy had known where they were going to come out of hyper—as they apparently did—why had they not set up a more deadly ambush? A full LAC wing could have wiped out his entire squadron without difficulty. Something was not right.

But there was no time to solve this riddle. The transports were under fire. It would be a half-hour before he could get his ships back to them. The added missile defense when he arrived would probably be sufficient to handle the incoming missiles, but it would not stop them from being launched in the first place. And in half an hour, how much more damage would they take?

"Hit on the destroyer _Nevers_," reported one of his staff. "Heavy damage."

"Hell, at this rate they'll all be junk before we can get back."

He had to make a decision and make it soon.

"Citizen Commodore!" his communications officer looked up in surprise.

"What is it?"

"I…I'm not sure. I'm picking up radio messages in the clear. They are coming from some of the local ships and from some of the asteroids. More of them every second. They must have started broadcasting soon after we arrived in the system. The signals are just getting to us now."

"What sort of signal?" growled LeClerque. He was in no mood for new riddles.

"Uh, they just repeat: 'Peeps go home' over and over, Citizen Commodore," said the officer uneasily.

LeClerque rocked back in his chair.

"You say they are coming from all over?"

"Yes, Citizen Commodore. Several thousand sources now and more all the time. Every ship and base in the system must be broadcasting."

Citizen Commodore Ferdinand LeClerque stared for a moment and then gave a harsh bark of laughter. The puzzle had solved itself.

"Communications! Signal the transports and their escorts to hyper out immediately. Tell them we will be following as soon as we cross the hyper limit. We will rendezvous in the Alpha band."

"Aye aye, Citizen Commodore," said the startled officer.

"What are you doing?" demanded Commissioner Aiken.

"We're leaving," said LeClerque bluntly. He had a good working relationship with his 'watchdog' and he did not expect her to make trouble for him, but he knew she would require an explanation.

"They knew we were coming," he said. "Probably that battlecruiser we encountered in hyper a few days ago. There's a Manty carrier out there, too. But for some reason they don't have their full LAC wing with them. If they did, they would have just tried to wipe us out.

"But they did not. Instead, they are trying to frighten us into leaving. I was puzzling over some things: Why did the LACs reveal themselves so soon? They have better stealth capabilities than that. Why the charade with _Mars la Tour_? They obviously captured her earlier and were using her as bait. And now this business with the locals and their radio signals. But they were too clever for their own good. If they really had the force to take us out, why try to scare us and deceive us? They could have just suckered us in and destroyed us. Those four 'battlecruisers' over near Pierowall are probably decoys, too. No, they just want us to leave."

"So why are you doing what they want?" asked Aiken.

"Because there is no point in doing anything else. We had a mission to accomplish in this system. That mission cannot be accomplished now. The locals are in open revolt and the original garrison has been destroyed or driven off—along with Citizen Captain LaSalle's convoy, apparently. Our mission was to complete the pacification here and set up the new shipyards. We can't do that now. The Manties are here—not in greatstrength it would seem—but they are here. The locals have sided with them and we have no ground troops to occupy their bases. For that matter, we have no base to operate out of ourselves. Apparently the orbital station is gone, too, or we would have heard something from them by now—perhaps that explains the small number of Manty LACs: they may have been destroyed taking out the station.

"We might be able to beat the forces we have seen so far, but to what end? We would be so badly hurt we could do nothing more except limp home to the nearest friendly base.

"Whatever plans the admirals had for this place are in the trash heap. There is no point getting our squadron decimated trying to put things back together. There's a very old military maxim: 'Reinforce success, not failure'."

The People's Commissioner mulled this over for a few moments. This was not going to look good in either of their records, but it still made more sense than throwing good money after bad.

"Very well," she said. "Citizen Commodore, I concur with your action."

[Scene Break]

"The Peep transports and their escort have hypered out, ma'am!" exclaimed Lieutenant Pickering.

"They were getting too badly hurt," said Anny Payne nodding her head. "Now the big question is: Will the rest follow?"

She sat in her command chair and watched the action on the tactical display. It was all happening a long way away. _Lionheart_ was sitting near Pierowall with thousands of the Belter ships, keeping an eye on the captured transports. With the Peep frigates still on the loose, they had to provide an escort. They also had four LACs from _Hydra_ with them, although at the moment, they were headed for Stronsay, towing four of _Defiant's_ EW drones.

At first Anny had not been happy with the secondary role assigned to her ship. It was obvious that Helen—and Captain Loehlin—were trying to keep her out of harm's way. But even she had to admit that _Lionheart_ was not in any shape to fight another battle. They had made what repairs they could in the limited time, but she was still a near-wreck.

And once she had accepted her assignment, she felt a growing sense of relief. She did not want to fight again. Not right now, anyway. She really was very tired. She had gotten a reasonable amount of sleep the last few days, but the months of strain had left their mark. She found her hands shaking and her heart pounding at odd times for no apparent reason._ I do need a rest. Sweet Tester, please let it end for a while._

As if in answer to her prayer, the remaining Peeps disappeared from her display.

"They've gone, too!" said Pickering elatedly.

Anny closed her eyes and bowed her head._ Thank you._

The rest of her bridge crew were talking excitedly and congratulating themselves, but Anny just sat there with her eyes closed._ It's over_. _It's finally over. Now we can go home._

"Skipper? I've got Moira Russell on the com," said Andrew Siganuk.

Anny opened her eyes and faced Russell on the com display. The Belter leader looked excited and apprehensive at the same time.

"Are they really gone, Admiral?"

"I think so, Moira," replied Anny, forcing a smile. "Commander Zilwicki's plan was to show them that your system would be more effort to subdue than it would be worth to them. Apparently it worked."

"'Our system'. I guess it really is now, isn't it? It's really ours again." Her voice had sunk to a whisper and she seemed to be staring at something far away.

"We're free."

[Scene Break]

Citizen Commander Rosa DeCampos sat and stared at nothing in particular. The reinforcements had come and they had gone again. They had not even stayed long enough for her warning message to reach them. The enemy had bamboozled them and they had bugged out.

Leaving her to her own devices.

_What do I do now? Ha! You know exactly what you have to do now!_

"Communications! Signal the LACs to prepare to scuttle. Get our shuttles ready to pick up their crews."

"We're getting the hell out of here."

**Chapter Fifty-Five**

**B**revet Lieutenant Commander Andreanne Payne, captain of the prize ship _Coeur de_ _Lion_ and one-time admiral of the Navy of Free Scalloway, sat in her command chair and tried not to notice the nervous squirmings of her bridge crew.

She was pretty nervous herself.

She and her crew had gone through an awful lot together. They had faced many situations, passed through many trials, overcome many challenges, but never this one:

How to say goodbye.

Three weeks had passed since the last 'battle'. Reinforcements had arrived from Holiway and the system was now secure. A half-dozen battlecruisers and even a dreadnought from Helen's old task force were here along with nearly twenty smaller ships. More were on the way from what she had been told.

The reinforcements had brought security to the people of Scalloway, but they had also brought orders for Anny Payne: She was to return to Grayson aboard _Defiant_. The admirals had given the 'honor' of transporting her and Patric to Captain Loehlin. It probably should have gone to Captain Romney and _Hydra_ since they were the ones who actually found them, but they were going to be busy for a few more weeks rounding up their LAC squadrons. They were probably getting pretty worried about the late pick-up and it could not be delayed any longer.

The admirals would not allow Anny to delay any longer either.

They had relieved her of command of _Lionheart_. She would come home. No more arguments, no more stalling.

It hurt more than she would have believed possible.

They had not meant to be cruel. It was just a prize ship after all, a temporary assignment. They just wanted to get her home and this was the quickest way to do it.

They never considered what it would mean to her—and she had not either.

She got up from her chair and walked awkwardly around the bridge. Her people kept casting glances in her direction—even Patric. They all looked like they wanted to say something, but did not have the words. Nor did she.

She was a little unsteady on her feet and her head hurt. Last night the Belters had thrown her a farewell party. It had been loud and boisterous. She had drunk far too much and stayed up far too late. She had turned over her admiral's post, but they had voted her a permanent honorary rank. It had gotten a bit emotional at the end, but nothing compared to what she was feeling now.

After a few minutes she found herself standing in front of the ship's builders plaque. She was acutely aware that this was exactly where she had seen Captain Kellerman standing when she had come to accept the ship's surrender.

_Now I know how she felt._

Part of her was angry. Why couldn't they have left her here until repairs had been made? There was no danger now. They could have let her bring her ship in. What difference would another month make?

But she knew that _Lionheart_ had probably made her last voyage. An old, obsolete cruiser like her was not even worth repairing. No formal decision had been made, but Anny knew what it would be. She had made an official recommendation that the ship be turned over to the Belters, but she had no idea if anyone would pay attention to it.

She raised her hand and brushed her fingers against the metal of the plaque.

_Damn, she was a good ship! My first command._ She closed her eyes and could feel again what it had been like in the grav wave. The ship was hers. No ship would ever be hers in quite that way again.

"Skipper? The shuttle has docked."

Anny turned and looked to Chief Peter McColgin at his flight-ops station. One of the boat bays had been repaired sufficiently to allow small craft to dock. All of their own small craft had been wrecked, so a shuttle from _Defiant_ had come to fetch her and Patric.

It was time.

"Gentleman," she said and took a deep breath. Before she could go on, every person on the bridge rose to his feet and turned to face her. She was momentarily taken back and had to clear her throat before she could go on.

"Gentlemen," she began again. "It had been my great honor and privilege to serve with you these past months. No captain ever had a better crew and I was extraordinarily fortunate to have you here with me. I wish that I could remain with you until we bring _Lionheart_ home, but that cannot be. I hope that we will have the chance to serve together again in the future. But for right now, you have my sincere thanks and best wishes." She'd been working on that little speech in her head for hours. It had seemed nice enough, but now it seemed hollow and totally inadequate.

But her crew did not seem to mind.

They crowded around her shaking her hand and mumbling various things. Ensign Radakovitch seemed oblivious to the fact his face was running with tears, and Anny, herself, spent much of the time biting her tongue hard to hold back her own.

Finally, almost everyone had said their farewell to her and she found herself facing Lieutenant Terrence Daley. His expression was very serious but he was also blushing deeply.

"Commander," he began and then stopped.

"Lieutenant?'

"Commander, I…I was going to ask to speak to you in private, but I made a fool of myself eight months ago in front of everyone here, and I suppose I owe it to them—and to you -to say what I have to say in front of them again."

Anny said nothing, but looked at her exec expectantly.

"I…I was wrong about you. I was wrong and I am very sorry for the hurt and the anxiety I know I have caused you, ma'am."

"No apology is necessary, Mister Daley," said Anny. She knew what it must be costing him to do this, and she was quite touched.

"Yes there is, ma'am. You were trying to save the ship and get us home and I was undermining your authority by my attitude. That was wrong of me and I apologize."

"Well, thank you, Mister Daley. I appreciate your candor very much. You are an excellent officer and have been a great help to me."

Daley nodded, but then he looked her straight in the eyes.

"Don't misunderstand me, ma'am. My feelings about having Grayson's women in combat roles has not changed—or not much anyway. I'm still not in favor of it. But…but I can see that there have to be some exceptions made. You are a fine officer, ma'am. As good as any I've ever seen. I…I just want you to know that I would be proud to serve under your command again. Anywhere, anytime."

Now Anny really was touched. She could not quite label what she was feeling inside her at that moment, but it felt even better than what she felt when _Defiant's_ officers were praising her a few weeks before. She nodded and stretched out her hand. Daley stepped forward and took it and shook firmly.

"Thank you, Mister Daley."

After a moment he let go and stepped back. Anny looked around the bridge and felt very self-conscious. But then her eyes met Patric's and she smiled.

"Ready, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Well, Gentlemen, we have to go," she said. "The best of luck to you and a safe journey home."

Then she put her shoulders back, came to attention, and saluted.

Her officers returned the salute, faces solemn and proud.

Anny's hand snapped back to her side and then she faced about and left the bridge.

When the hatch closed behind her, she stopped and let out a long sigh. Patric looked at her and smiled.

"That was hard," she said.

"You did fine, Anny."

"I don't suppose there are any more people waiting to say goodbye? Down by the boat bay, perhaps?"

"I'm sworn to secrecy," said Patric, his smile growing larger.

"Yeah, right," said Anny. But she looked at him and smiled in return. He reached over and gave her hand a squeeze. She squeezed back and then let go. They started walking slowly aft. The lift to the bridge was not repaired yet, and they would have to walk to the boat bay. With all the changes in deck they would have to do, it made for quite stroll. Anny did not mind a bit—one last look around her ship.

It did not take long for her to notice that the corridors were unusually empty-even for undermanned _Lionheart_—adding to her suspicions about what was waiting for her in the boat bay. Still, she imagined she would survive that, too. _Unless they sing that damn song!_

"It's a shame Helen won't be going back with us," said Patric. "I would love to have a chance to talk to her."

"Yes, me, too," agreed Anny. "But spending four weeks with Alby should be quite an experience. I still can't believe he actually came looking for us."

"I know. He's really changed. I…I guess someone else has changed a bit, too."

Anny frowned. The shock of suddenly being face to face with Sandra Bennett in _Defiant's _wardroom had been nearly as great as hearing Helen's voice on the com—but not nearly as agreeable.

"Well, she certainly seemed different," admitted Anny. "And she did apologize. It will take some getting used to, though."

"Was I imagining things or is there something going on between Alby and her?" asked Patric.

"I don't know," said Anny, shaking her head. "I noticed it, too, but it seems almost impossible, doesn't it?"

"Well, stranger things have happened, although I'd be pretty hard pressed to name one just offhand."

Anny chuckled and then they fell silent as they descended a series of companionways to the deck the boat bay was located on. Both of them were looking at the repairs that had been made—and at the things yet to be fixed.

"I hope they don't scrap her," said Patric, voicing Anny's thoughts as well. "She sure was a good ship."

"Yes she was. I just hope…"

"_Look out!"_

They had just turned a corner and Patric suddenly shouted and threw back his left arm, hitting her solidly in the ribs. There was the whine of a pulser being fired and a muffled 'pop' and a cry of pain and then Anny was lying on the deck with Patric half-way on top of her.

She struggled to pull herself up, but then froze in horror at the sight of Patric's right arm.

Or what was left of it.

About ten centimeters down from his elbow, his arm just ended. Shredded rags of his uniform—and his flesh—hung down from the stump and bright red blood was spurting out of it…

"Patric! _Patric!_"

"Anny, get back!" he groaned.

She stared at his arm and then her eyes flicked to a figure standing in the shadows a few meters away. But then her eyes came back to his arm and she was pulling off her belt to wrap around the stump and stop the flow of blood.

The figure took a step forward into the light.

"Ev…Evan…" croaked Patric.

Anny looked up from her task and it all suddenly made sense.

_Evan Frazer!_

The young man who Patric and Anny had thought was their friend was standing there with a pulse pistol in his hand and a look of shock on his face.

Or at least Patric had thought he was a friend. Anny had known for several months that Evan Frazer was not what he seemed.

"It was you all along wasn't it?" she asked, her mind spinning madly. One eye was on Frazer and one on her attempt to tie a tourniquet around Patric's arm. "The welding laser explosion and everything else."

"No!" cried Frazer and the look of shock on his face turned to anguish. "I didn't have anything to do with that, I swear! Oh God, Patric, I'm sorry!"

"Th…then why?" asked Patric through clenched teeth as Anny cinched her belt down tight.

"They… they made me do it."

_Oh Sweet Tester!_

"Who? Who made you do it?" demanded Anny.

"I don't know!" wailed Frazer. "It was on that leave they gave us after _Alliance_ was commissioned. I was in the park with my family. Men with guns grabbed me when I was alone. They…they showed me how easy it would be for them to kill my family. They said they would unless I did what they told me."

An icy chill went through Anny. _Oh God!_

"Evan, if…if you'd told us we could have gotten protection for your family," said Anny. She was trying to buy time. Surely someone must have heard them…

"No! They said they would get them no matter what anyone did! They told me they wanted you stopped. That either you came home in disgrace or not at all! I didn't want to, but they would kill my mothers and my father and my sisters if I didn't. I'm sorry!"

Anny's mind raced back over everything she could remember of Evan Frazer. He _had_ seemed different after the leave, but she'd given it little mind—until she overheard him trying to stir up the crew. Even then she never grasped what was really happening.

Evan continued to point the gun at them, but his face was twisted in grief and shame and indecision.

"And now…and now," he started to sob, "Now you're coming home a hero again! I tried to turn the crew against you, but no one would listen! And during the battle I…I…Oh God, I'm sorry, but they'll kill my family!"

The horror and the anger Anny was feeling melted away to pity for the tortured man standing in front of her. The thought of what he must have been going through all these months! Trapped, with no way out!

But then the thought of the evil, twisted men who had forced him to do their dirty work made the anger flare up in her again. But her own guilt swallowed it all. All this was over her! Thousands of Belters had died because of her mistakes a few weeks ago. Now more innocents could die. She had not intended to do anything wrong. All those years ago when she decided to go to the Academy, she had not thought she was doing anything wrong. But she was still the cause of it all!

_It's got to end._

She started to get to her feet. Patric tried to hold her back, but his magnificent strength was ebbing away. She clenched her teeth at the sight of his severed hand lying on the deck near the bulkhead.

"Anny, stay back!" pleaded Patric.

She gently pushed his left arm aside and stood up. Frazer took a pace back and leveled the gun at her.

"I won't be responsible for any more deaths, Evan," she said. "Do what you have to do."

If possible, the pain on his face grew even greater.

"Evan…_please!_" sobbed Patric from behind her.

Frazer's gaze left Anny for a moment and rested on Patric.

Suddenly there was a shout from behind her and the sound of running feet.

Evan Frazer's eyes looked past her for an instant and then came back to her. He raised the gun slightly. Anny tensed herself and held her breath

_Into your hands I commend my soul, Oh Tester!_

Frazer hesitated for another second and the shouts and feet got louder. His eyes locked with hers.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

But then, the muzzle of his gun was coming up. Up and up until it wasn't pointing at her anymore.

Her heart started beating again and she began to let out her breath…

But then she froze again.

The gun was still coming up. Higher and higher and she suddenly realized that Evan Frazer had discovered another way out of the trap…

_"Evan! Don't!" _she cried.

But the muzzle of the gun was already against his right temple before she could even move. There was another obscene 'pop' and the left side of his head exploded out in a shower of gore.

_"No!"_

"No! No! No!" she screamed.

Then there were people all around her. They were talking and shouting and jostling her, but none of it made any sense. She just stood and stared at Frazer's body with her fists clenched.

_The bastards! The bastards!_

Tears were pouring down her face in her rage and sorrow and frustration. More people were talking to her, but it was all just noise.

It was only when a stretcher arrived for Patric that she became aware of her surroundings again. They loaded him on it and started to carry him to Sick Bay.

She began to follow, but took one last look at the mangled corpse lying on the deck.

With a cry of animal fury, she slammed her fist into the bulkhead as hard as she could and then turned and hurried after Patric.

**Chapter Fifty-Six**

**L**ieutenant (j.g.) Patric McDermott walked across the Grayson Navy Headquarters complex toward the Admiralty Building. It seemed like a very long time since he had last been there. He glanced at the grim-faced senior grade lieutenant at his side. She walked determinedly up the broad steps, a half pace ahead of him.

He was worried about Anny. She had been moody and uncommunicative the entire journey back to Grayson. Even Alby had not been able to get her to laugh.

Things had been a bit better after they got back to her homestead and could visit with some of her family. But she had spent much of her time with Patric at the hospital during his regeneration therapy and there had been little to smile about there. Fortunately, it had not taken too long. As gruesome as his injury had been, it was fairly simple to repair. In spite of being blown completely off by the pulser dart, his hand and wrist had hardly been damaged at all. Reattaching it was routine, and the regeneration of the missing part of his forearm would only take a few months. A bulky cast encased his right arm, and the sleeve of his uniform tunic had been cut back to accommodate it.

They entered the building and passed through the security checkpoint. A lift took them up to Grand Admiral Matthew's office. On the ride, Patric continued to stare at Anny. She deliberately did not meet his gaze and it made him feel very bad. They had had their first real fight the day before and neither of them really knew how to deal with it.

Patric had already felt bad enough. The betrayal by, and death of, Evan Frazer had shaken him to his core. And the fact that he had been unable to protect Anny—except for taking that first pulser dart for her—filled him with guilt. Now there was to be a meeting with the Grand Admiral. Considering Anny's mood, he was very worried about how this was going to go.

Matthew's secretary greeted them warmly and they were ushered into the Admiral's office without delay. Unlike their first visit, Admiral Matthews was alone. He rose at their entrance and returned their salutes.

"Lieutenant Payne, Lieutenant McDermott, welcome back. I'm very, very glad to see you again." Matthew's words were friendly enough, but there was something about their tone that made Patric even uneasier than he already was.

"It is good to be home, Admiral, thank you," said Anny. There was no real warmth in her words either.

"Please," he said, "let's sit down."

A moment later, they were seated in the same chairs they had occupied in another meeting nearly a T-year earlier. Matthews stared at them for a while before saying anything.

"Well," he began at last, "I've got quite a bit to talk to you about, and I'm afraid not all of it is going to be pleasant."

"No, sir," said Anny and Matthews looked at her sharply. He frowned and then cleared his throat.

"It seems that you are aware that certain people, myself included, are not terribly happy with some of the things that you have done recently, Lieutenant."

"Yes, sir."

"Your refusal to return to Grayson when Captain Loehlin informed you of her orders, could be considered insubordination. Not by the letter of the regulations, I'll admit—you did not actually disobey a direct order—but you certainly knew you were ignoring the _spirit_ of those orders."

"Yes, sir, I did—and I'd do it again if I had to." The Admiral did not look pleased and Patric was frightened by Anny's tone. Just how much did she think she could get away with? She'd been like some damn juggernaught for weeks—that was what they had fought about yesterday.

"I see," he said. "Well, fortunately there will be no formal repercussions due to those actions. As noted, you were not directly violating any regulations, and Captain Loehlin has been generous enough not to file any sort of official complaint about your actions.

"However, some of your other actions are not so easily overlooked. Specifically, your decision to assist the local insurgents in the Scalloway system, the material aid you gave them, the implicit recognition of their government, bringing civilians back to Navy medical facilities, and most especially, certain statements you have made to the news media since your return."

Admiral Matthew's expression grew very hard.

"Miss Payne, the government of Grayson, and the high command of its navy are not used to having policy dictated to it by lieutenants with scarcely a year of experience under their belts! I've read your report and I can appreciate the difficulty of your situation. Allying yourself with the locals could be overlooked, perhaps, but giving them military hardware—especially nuclear weapons-was skating on very thin ice. Undertaking a joint military operation was likewise pushing the regulations beyond the limits they were designed for. We've already discussed your refusal to leave, but your attempts to generate support for the Belters in the media is little short of blackmail.

"Lieutenant, we are both well aware of your special status in the Navy. We had considered you a great asset. But if you continue to abuse that special status for your own ends, we are going to have to seriously reconsider how we make use of you. Do I make myself clear?"

Anny seemed a little startled by Matthew's tone, but she set her face into a frozen mask and met his stare.

"My 'special status', Admiral? If it were not for my 'special status' I never would have been in that situation in the first place, sir. You said you were going to push me. Well, you did! And because of that—and my 'special status'—instead of being back in Auxiliary Control on _Alliance_, I was in command of a crippled prize ship with the blood of twenty thousand—twenty thousand and one—people on my hands. I didn't ask for that. I did what I had to do, sir. I won't apologize for it. If my actions have embarrassed Grayson and the Alliance so badly, I am fully prepared to accept any consequences."

Matthews leaned back in his chair and pulled at his chin. Patric was not sure, but it seemed as though he had a lot more gray hair than the last time he had seen him—maybe more than just a few minutes ago. The silence dragged on for nearly a minute. Patric was sure Anny had gone too far and he could not imagine what was going to happen now. But slowly a small smile started to form on the Admiral's face.

"Tester, but you're a feisty one!" he said at last. Anny jerked slightly in her chair and frowned, but said nothing.

"And a damn good tactician, too. You know perfectly well that there won't be any 'consequences'—at least not any unpleasant ones. You are the media darling again. 'Single-handedly saving your ship in the grav wave, the liberator of oppressed peoples, taking on enemy ships ten times the size of your own without hesitation!' Oh wouldn't the press love it if we tried to reprimand you now?

"Lieutenant, I can't really fault you for what you did. It was a damn difficult situation and your decisions took real guts. But please don't put us in a situation like this again. Do we understand each other?"

Anny was silent for a few seconds, but then she nodded.

"Yes, Admiral, I suppose we do. I was not trying to make things difficult for you, but if you—or fate- put me in positions of responsibility, I will use my own judgment in determining my actions. On the other hand, I don't imagine this particular set of circumstances is likely to occur again."

"No, I don't suppose," said Matthews with a chuckle. "At least I certainly hope not! All right, we'll consider the matter closed."

He looked straight at Anny and there was a twinkle in his eye.

"But now let's talk about some of the more pleasant consequences of your actions. No matter how inconvenient or irksome they may have been, they were still damned impressive. The Protector has insisted that they be formally recognized, and I can't disagree with him. You did one hell of a job, Lieutenant."

"I…uh, thank you, sir," said Anny, blushing a bright pink. "I had a lot of help."

"No doubt, and your crew's accomplishments will be properly recognized, too. But for right now, we are concerned with you. First, your brevet promotion to Lieutenant Commander has been made permanent. Congratulations, Commander."

"Th…thank you, sir." Her blush went even redder. Patric smiled and felt a warm glow of pride.

"Oh, and Lieutenant McDermott," said Matthews turning to him, "You are promoted to senior grade lieutenant. You did a fine job, too—and we can't have your charge outranking you by too much.

"

Patric was completely surprised and could only stammer out a nearly incoherent 'thank you'.

"By the way," said the Admiral, "how's that arm of yours?"

"Very good, sir. I was extremely lucky. The pulser dart hit the palm of my hand and just sort of slid between my wrist bones and up the arm before exploding. None of the complicated joints were really damaged and the repairs were relatively simple."

"Glad to hear it. I would think keeping Commander Payne in line is definitely a job that takes two hands!" He and Patric laughed. Anny glared at the Admiral and then at Patric, but as their eyes met, she smiled at him. It was like the sun coming out after a storm and he smiled back.

"Commander," continued Matthews, "In addition to the promotion, I've recommended you for the Navy's Silver Starburst for your performance in the grav wave and later in the actions around Scalloway."

"Admiral, that's very kind," began Anny in a flustered voice, "But I don't think…"

"I'm not asking you to think, Commander," said Matthews. "You will receive the medal and that's that. You may recall that the regulations were changed a while back and now no officer is permitted to refuse an award for gallantry. Clear?"

"Yes, sir," said Anny in the meekest voice she had used so far.

"Good. Now, I have some more news for you that I'm sure you will like. The Navy has negotiated basing rights in the Scalloway system. We did not really need a base there, but now we've got one and it will have to be defended. The Protector's Own Squadron will also be keeping some substantial units there. Naturally, we will be upgrading the facilities and infrastructure."

"That's wonderful, sir," said Anny with a smile. "I'm very grateful."

"One other bit of news: Protector Benjamin has used his own funds to buy the salvage rights to _Coeur de Lion_. He plans to fix her up and modernize her and then turn her over to the Scalloway Navy."

Patric found himself grinning. Anny was, too and they beamed at each other. _Good old Lionheart saved from the scrap heap! That's as good as the promotion! _

After a few moments, they noticed that the Grand Admiral was not smiling any more.

"Unfortunately, there are now other matters to discuss and they will not be quite so pleasant as these last few."

"Sir?"

"Well, first off, we have to decide just what to do with you now, Commander. You've had an independent command for eight months. You've gotten more practical command experience than many officers with ten times your years in service. Unfortunately, we have to allow for the fact that you are only twenty-three standard years old, and only a year and a half out of the Academy. It would be very difficult to put you in command of another ship at this point. Or at least a substantial one. Command of a frigate, or even a destroyer would not be totally out of the question except that the Protector—and I—don't want you running around in anything as flimsy as that! I would not want you in anything less than a battlecruiser and there is no way you have the experience or seniority for that sort of command."

"Uh, no, sir, I should say not!" said Anny who had turned rather pale. "I'd be perfectly happy going back to _Alliance_ or some other ship in a lesser position."

"Humpf!" snorted Matthews. "You may find being a subordinate again more difficult than you believe, Commander. It can be very hard to let go of the reins. So you can see part of the problem, but there is actually a much more serious issue."

"Sir?"

"I'm speaking of Ensign Frazer's assassination attempt on you."

Patric stiffened and felt a chill go through him. Anny looked paler than before.

"Have…have they found anything on the men who forced him to…to…?" asked Anny.

"No. Not a thing," said Matthews grimly. "There were thousands of people in the park Frazer mentioned that day. We've done a lot of investigation, but come up with nothing."

"His family will be protected, won't they, Admiral?" asked Patric. He had wanted to visit them or at least offer his condolences, but he had been ordered to have no contact pending the investigation.

"We are watching them, Lieutenant. But we are hoping that by listing Ensign Frazer as 'killed in action' it will eliminate the motive for revenge of whoever is responsible. You can't take revenge on a dead man, after all."

"Do you think that story will hold up, Admiral?" asked Anny.

"We are hoping so," replied Matthews. "There are only a few people who know the truth and they have been told of the possible consequences of talking. Considering the number of casualties you took during the fighting, there is nothing at all unreasonable about listing Frazer as KIA. That will also allow us to spare his family the anguish of how he really died. By the way, Mister McDermott, you will be authorized—required actually—to wear a wound stripe on your uniform. It seems you were wounded during the battle, too."

"Yes, sir," said Patric, but he hardly noticed. His thoughts went back to his friendship with Evan Frazer. He had really liked him. He had trusted him. After the confrontation with Mark Rutledge, he even owed him. The knowledge that Evan had been forced to work against Anny burned inside him. Evan had begged Patric to get him included in _Lionheart's_ prize crew. Patric had thought it was just so he could be part of the adventure, but it had really been to stay close to Anny. Close enough to try and stir up a mutiny against her. When that did not work, he had deliberately ignored Patric's attempts to send him to assist in the sidewall repairs during the battle. Apparently he was willing to see the whole ship destroyed. And finally, when everything else had failed, he was waiting in a darkened corridor with a pulser in his hand.

And Frazer had had no choice. He was just a puppet on strings held by someone else. The thought of those someones had Patric clenching his left fist. He tried to clench his right, but the muscles were not there to do it and his hand just twitched. He wished he could track down the monsters who had killed his friend—for they _had_ killed him. But there was no hope of that. Patric was a stranger on Grayson and the idea that he could succeed where the various security agencies had failed was ludicrous.

But he still wished he could.

"Hopefully the cover story will protect Frazer's family," continued Matthews. "But we will be keeping a close watch on them. Partly to protect them, and partly to see if anyone else is watching them.

"But that brings us back to your situation, Commander. What happened there on _Coeur de Lion_ has forced us to rethink your assignment here. As much as it hurts to say it, we have to admit that this could happen again on any Grayson ship we put you on. The people who were behind this could find out who you were serving with and try exactly this sort of blackmail again. The sad fact is that we can't protect you."

"So what do we do, sir?" asked Anny.

"I've discussed this at length with the Protector. The short-term solution we see is to 'lend' you back to the Royal Navy for a few years."

Anny jumped in her chair like she'd been given an electric shock. Patric twitched in almost the same way. _Back to the RMN? Back home?_

Anny's mouth opened and closed a few times, but no sound came out.

"It's not what we want to do, Commander, but it is the only practical solution we can see. And it is not entirely unreasonable. Many people do not realize it, but the exchange of personnel between the GSN and the RMN has not been entirely one-way. We have many of our officers serving aboard Royal Navy ships to observe their procedures and techniques. We intend to make you one of them."

"So…so I-we-would not just be returning to the Royal Navy, we would be Grayson Navy personnel on loan to the RMN?" asked Anny finding her voice.

"Yes, it is a bit complicated," said Matthews. "You would technically be RMN personnel on loan to the GSN who are on loan to the RMN. You would retain your commissions in both navies."

"I see, sir. I can see the sense in it: whoever was after me would find it a lot harder if I was on a Royal Navy ship."

"Exactly."

"I'm not sure I like the idea of running away from this, though, Admiral."

"You don't like running away do you, Commander?" said Matthews with a small snort. "But no, not running away, it's a strategic re-deployment, Commander. And it will not be permanent, either. A great deal has changed since you were last home."

"Sir?"

"Yes. A year ago, you were unique and that made you a target for the reactionaries. In another few years you will no longer be unique. Currently there are two Grayson women who are second form cadets at Saganami Academy, and eight more in the first form. In addition—and perhaps far more significantly—there has been a major development right here on Grayson. Protector Benjamin has taken a page out of Edward Saganami's book and created his own naval academy."

"But…but Grayson already has a naval academy, sir," protested Anny.

"Yes, and it still excludes women," said Matthews. "But this new academy is for the Protector's Own Squadron. It does allow women and the first class has over thirty of them in it. Since the POS and the Grayson Navy already have full reciprocity as far as transferring officers, you can see the significance once these women start graduating."

"Yes, sir," said Anny, clearly impressed.

"So, what we intend to do is to make you a little less accessible—take you off the bulls-eye, if you will—for a while. Once these other women start joining the fleet, there will be far less motive for anyone to try and harm you."

Patric nodded. It seemed like a good idea. In fact, it seemed like an incredibly great idea! The sunburst he felt with Anny's earlier smile was blossoming into a supernova. _We're going home!_ All those black and gold uniforms on _Defiant_ had filled him with a terrible homesickness, and the thought of wearing one again, himself, almost had him dancing for joy.

"Do you know what our assignment will be, sir?" asked Anny. She was not smiling and Patric wondered what was wrong.

"Not yet. The military and political situation is a bit unsettled right now, as I'm sure you know. In any case, you will be due for some leave on Manticore. Those decisions can be made later."

"I see. Sir? Isn't this going to look a little bad in the public eye? Maybe I'm not running away, but it could certainly look like that to a lot of people. They'll think I just couldn't cut it in the Grayson Navy and I'm running back to the RMN."

"No doubt some people will try to present it in that light, Commander," admitted Matthews. "However, the record of your performance speaks for itself, and your promotion and decoration should make it clear that we highly approve of your conduct—well, most of your conduct, anyway."

"Yes, sir," said Anny, but she still was not smiling.

"Commander, I can see you are not happy with what I'm telling you here, and perhaps with the chewing out I gave you earlier you are misunderstanding the Navy's attitude toward you. We are not displeased with you, quite the contrary. Your performance on active duty has exceeded our expectations in every category—far exceeded it in some areas.

"If you were just any officer, we would be pleased and would probably have you pegged for a fast-track career. But you are not just any officer; you are Andreanne Payne, the first Grayson woman in Grayson's Navy. I can't begin to tell you how much that means, but the results are plain. Those women at Saganami Island and in the Protector's academy would not be there but for you. You have been the pathfinder, Anny, blazing the trail for the others to follow. Many others will follow, but you were the first. You should be tremendously proud of yourself—I know I am."

Patric looked at Anny, feeling his own pride in her. She blushed and looked down at the carpet.

"Thank you, sir," she whispered at last.

"Now, carry out your orders, ma'am! Get yourself to Manticore and in a few years come back and we'll see about getting you your own ship."

"Aye aye, sir," said Anny Payne.

**Chapter Fifty-Seven**

**P**atric McDermott slowly walked up the last long slope toward the Payne homestead. He was sweating under his filter mask, and his arm was throbbing. But it had felt very good to get out and walk around outside. It might be his last chance for a long time. They would be leaving for Manticore tomorrow and excited as he was about that prospect, he knew he was going to miss the beauty of Anny's home world.

He wished she was here with him, but she had begged off, claiming she still had packing to do. _Why does it take women so long to pack? Just gather all your things up and stuff them in a bag._

He reached the top of the hill and started around the side of the house toward the front door. When he reached the corner, he stopped when he saw the aircar sitting on the front landing pad. He recognized the color and the crest painted on the side, but he scarcely noticed, because his eyes were riveted on the tall woman in an admiral's uniform with a Sphinxian treecat in her arms who was just getting into the car. Her back was to him, and she did not see him. Several of the men accompanying her glanced in his direction, but quickly got into the car and shut the doors. A moment later the aircar lifted off and it was soon just a speck in the distance.

Patric continued to stare after it for a moment and then he hurried inside. One of Anny's aunts saw him come in.

"Hello, Patric," she said.

"Was that who I think it was?" he asked.

"Yes," she said with a grin.

"Where's Anny?"

"She just went to her room."

Patric walked across the domed-over courtyard and through the large house to the room Anny was staying in. The door was open, but he stopped and rapped lightly on the frame before he entered. Anny was sitting on the bed and she looked up as he came in. There was a strange look on her face. He had expected her to be excited, but she looked sad and lonely.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi. How was your walk?"

"Fine. Get much packing done while I was gone?"

"Uh, well, not really. We had a visitor."

"So I understand! What did she want?"

Anny shook her head. "She said she was here to tell me about some things happening in Scalloway, but I guess she was really here to give me a pep talk. I don't know how she knew I needed one, but I suppose the Grand Admiral must have said something to her."

"So what's with Scalloway?" Patric really wanted to know about Admiral Harrington's pep talk with Anny, but he could tell from her mood that it would be better to ease into the subject.

"She told me that her Blackbird Yards Corporation will be building a series of shipyards in Scalloway to construct LACs."

"Well, that sounds good! The Alliance will have to provide protection for those!"

"Yes, and apparently as part of the deal, the Belters will be getting about twenty percent of the production for their own navy. After a few years, they will be able to defend themselves pretty well even if the Alliance pulls out most of their forces. She also mentioned that she was planning to invest in the terraforming effort."

"Anny, that's wonderful!" said Patric. "Moira must be thrilled with that."

"I hope she is," said Anny. "They've suffered so much, I just hope this can all work out for them."

"None of it would have happened except for you, Anny."

Anny looked down and picked at the bedspread with a fingernail.

"What else did she say?"

"Oh, just stuff."

"'Stuff', huh? Steadholder Harrington, Royal Navy full Admiral Harrington, Grayson Navy full Admiral Harrington, Duchess Harrington, this, that, and the other thing Harrington came out here to tell you 'stuff'"?

"Yeah, stuff." Anny's face twitched slightly and a tiny smile appeared for a moment as she avoided his eyes, but it quickly faded.

Patric closed the door and sat down on the bed next to her.

"Anny, what's wrong?"

She looked up at him briefly and then resumed her picking at the bedspread.

"I don't know, Patric," she said quietly. "Ghosts, too many ghosts. So many people are dead who did not have to be."

"And you think you are to blame?"

"For some of them I am. I made so many mistakes during the battle. That was my fault—nobody else's. In my mind I know that a lot of them might have died anyway. It was a battle and people do get killed in those things. But in my heart, I know a lot of them died because of me. Evan certainly did."

Patric had suspected this was what Anny had been feeling for weeks, but this was the first time she had spelled it out. She was wrong. He knew she was wrong, but he also knew it would do no good to just tell her that. But what should he say to her?

"Did you tell any of this to Lady Harrington?"

"Some. I think she guessed the rest."

"Well, what did she tell you?"

"The same thing that you want to tell me: that I'm wrong. That I did my best and it wasn't my fault."

"Well, it's true! It's not your fault! If you won't believe it from me, you should certainly believe it from her!"

"Oh, I do believe you. I believe both of you—in my mind. It's my heart that won't listen. Twenty thousand. Twenty thousand, Patric. Should I congratulate myself that it wasn't thirty thousand? Or tell myself that it should have only been ten? I asked her how I'm supposed answer those questions. How I'm supposed to live with the answers."

"And what did she say?"

"That it was going to be hard. That all I could do was do my duty and try to live with it. But I don't know if I can, Patric. And now they want me to run away…"

"You are not running away!"

"Whatever."

She would not meet his eyes and continued to scratch at the bedspread.

"Anny, you've got to snap out of this," said Patric in genuine alarm. "What are you going to do? Quit?"

"Maybe I should. Or just request shore duty. I don't know. Everything seems so strange. I thought I knew what I was getting myself into. I didn't. It's all so much harder than I thought it would be and in spite of what everyone says, I don't think I'm doing a very good job at it."

Patric just shook his head. He really was afraid for Anny. She could be headstrong and emotional and would sometimes act without thinking, but she had always had a drive inside her. A passion to accomplish her goal. Only once before had she sunk into a depression like this: back at the Academy. She thought she had failed there, too. And she had tried to run away. Patric—and a small miracle—had dragged her back.

Now she thought she had failed again. And she was being forced to run away. Patric had to drag her back—and this time there would be no miracle to help out. He had to do it on his own.

"Do…do you honestly think anyone could have done any better?" he asked. She just glanced up at him with _that_ look.

"Well, you are wrong! No one could have done any better—not even her! You're a year out of the Academy, Anny! Where was she at that point in her career? You've saved a ship, given a whole people their freedom back, won a terrible battle, all on your own! No, you are not perfect. Yes, you made some mistakes. But you'll learn from them and go on. No one can ask for more!"

Anny stared at him with a pained expression.

"Stop it," she whispered.

"No I will not stop it!" cried Patric and he reached out to grab her arms. His right hand could hardly grip, but his left could.

"All right! I admit it! You are not Honor Harrington! There's only one of her. But you are Andreanne Payne and there's only one of you, too! And that's something to be damn proud of! You've had to overcome obstacles she never had to face just to get to the starting line. And you've done great things since then. And all of those women that Admiral Matthews was talking about, the ones in the academies, they are there because of you, not Harrington! They're looking to you, not her! You are setting the standard for the rest of them. You're the prototype, the model that all others are going to be judged by."

Anny was staring at him with wide eyes and her mouth was quivering. Patric was being carried along in a surge of his own emotions and he felt the tears starting in his own eyes.

"And…and two hundred years from now our great-great grandchildren will point to your picture and say: 'That's her! That's Anny Payne! She's our great-great grandmother and she was the first! The first Grayson woman in the Navy!' And they'll be proud of you!"

Patric's voice sank to a whisper.

"Just the way I am."

Anny sat and stared at him. The tears overflowed her eyes and ran down her cheeks. Her hands reached out to him and then she buried her face against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her—somewhat awkwardly with the clumsy cast on his right arm—and held her close.

And then she let it all out. The months of horrible strain, the fear of making a mistake, and the terror of battle. The anguish over the dead. It all came pouring out in her tears. Patric wept, too, but he held her and stroked her hair with his left hand.

They stayed like that for a long, long time.

Finally, when the tears stopped, Patric relaxed his embrace and Anny pulled back slightly. She looked up into his eyes and smiled.

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

They sat and stared at each other for a while longer. Then Patric stirred.

"Can I help you with your packing?"

Anny smiled again and nodded.

Patric reached out to wipe away one last tear on her face.

"C'mon, let's go home."

**Epilogue**

**T**hey always seemed to come back to _Hephaestus_.

Patric looked out the viewport as the transport ship maneuvered in to dock and thought back to his arrival day at the Academy. He had been on a transport just like this one. Coming from his home planet of Gryphon-just like this one was.

Anny and Patric had been back in the Manticore star system for two months. They had spent one month with Anny's family on Manticore and another with Patric's family on Gryphon.

He had lost count of how many times he had been asked when he and Anny were going to get married.

He still had no answer to that question. Neither Anny nor he was happy about it, either.

Even so, it had been a very nice leave. Anny seemed to have gotten over the worst of her depression and was almost her usual happy, enthusiastic self. Patric could sense a lingering sadness in her, but he was wise enough to know that that was part of growing up and also a part of the profession they had chosen. He squeezed Anny's hand and then turned back to the viewport.

Many people might think that Patric had seen enough ships to satisfy even him by this time, but he still had his nose pressed to the armorplast to watch what was happening around the space station. What he saw was a bit depressing.

The usual frantic activity had slowed to a crawl. There were a lot of ships in the vicinity, but nothing much was happening around them. A few shuttles drifted back and forth, but that was all. The huge building slips had dozens of partially completed ships in them, but they seemed very quiet. Not completely deserted, and Patric could see a few droids at work, but the incredible pace of the construction, which had gone on non-stop for years, was missing.

While _Lionheart_ and her crew (and the ships and people searching for them) had been off in the back of the beyond, major events had occurred in the War. There had been almost simultaneous upheavals in the political leadership of both the Star Kingdom and the People's Republic of Haven. It had all seemed very confusing to Patric, but the bottom line was that the Peeps had been terribly battered by the Alliance's latest offensive, and had asked for a cease-fire. The war-weary Alliance had agreed. No one in the Navy seemed to think it would last long, but the enemy was on the ropes, and the need for another two hundred capital ships was being re-thought.

Patric's own opinion was mixed. He did not trust the Peeps or this cease-fire, but he had to admit that it would lower the risk to Anny and almost anything was worth that. There had been a time when Patric thought the end of the war might lead to demobilization or shore duty for Anny and him, but he realized now that that was unlikely. The Graysons still wanted Anny as a symbol of the reforms. Even though the end of the war might remove the immediate need for Grayson's women to join their men in uniform, Protector Benjamin was still pushing for it and that would keep Anny on a ship and Patric close by.

Which was fine with him.

They were coming to _Hephaestus_ to join up with their new ship. The orders had only reached them four days ago and after the leisurely two-month leave, they had to scramble to get ready and get here.

The transport snuggled up to the side of the mammoth space station and was secured to its boarding tubes. It was a regular commercial flight and there were hundreds of passengers getting off. Most of them were in uniform, but quite a few civilians were in evidence, too. It took a while to pass through the security checks and a while longer to verify that their luggage would be sent to the right place. Eventually they got through the last of the red tape and walked out into the passenger concourse.

They went over to the main ship index board and scanned down it to find their own.

"_Fidelity…Finnigan_…there she is: _Firedrake_," said Anny. "Bay two-ninety four."

They headed over to the transport tubes and waited for a car. It was only a short while and soon they were on their way. The car was empty except for them. They chose seats facing each other and grinned.

"It's always exciting when you join a new ship, isn't it?" he asked.

"Sure is," she agreed. "I wonder what she'll be like?"

"Like all the other _Minotaur_ class, I would expect," he replied with a smile.

"You know what I mean! Every ship is different."

Patric grinned even more broadly. "Yes, I know. I was just teasing." She stuck her tongue out at him.

It seemed like an odd thing for a lieutenant commander to do, but Patric was happy to see her in such good spirits. A lieutenant commander-he stared at her uniform with great satisfaction. The two full and one half gold rings of her rank gleamed on the cuffs of her space-black tunic. Three gold pips shone on her collar, and the ribbons bar on her chest had grown quite a bit longer since the last time Anny Payne wore a Manticoran uniform.

The ribbons for the Conspicuous Gallantry Medal and the Protector's Cross were still there, of course, but she had added the Grayson's Silver Starburst. There was also a very unusual ribbon. The Manticoran Spacers' Guild had awarded her their Starfarer's Medal for her heroic actions to save her ship in the grav wave. It was not a military decoration, but she was permitted to wear it on her uniform.

Patric suppressed a grin at the memory of the day it was awarded to her. The ceremony had gone fine and Anny's whole family was there. But Anny had nearly strangled him when her sister Abigail produced her fiddle and played—and sang—"Anny and the Grav Wave" which Patric had taught her. Anny had blushed a truly remarkable shade of red, but the listeners eyes were filled with tears by the end of it. Patric knew the song embarrassed her terribly, but he also wanted the whole galaxy to hear it and know what Anny had done.

Anny also wore the ribbon for the Liberation Medal and Patric was enormously proud that he wore a duplicate on his own chest. They also both wore the Unit Citation ribbon that had been awarded to the entire crew of _Lionheart_.

Patric knew that Anny was proud of those awards. Not just for the medals themselves, but as tangible proof of her accomplishments and the approval of her superiors and her peers. He also knew that she was probably more proud of the small gold star on her chest, just above the row of ribbons, than anything else. It signified that she had been the commander of a hyper capable warship. Anny had been surprised when the Royal Navy informed her she was eligible to wear it. She had not been officially placed in command of _Lionheart_—and it was debatable whether she was really hyper capable—but apparently eight T-months as the commanding officer was good enough for them. It had certainly been good enough for Patric and the rest of _Lionheart's_ crew.

Of course, she still had the wound stripe on her uniform, and Patric now had one of those, too. At first Patric had felt bad about wearing it, but Anny had, quite correctly, pointed out that he had earned it in the line of duty—no matter what the other circumstances.

The transport car came to a halt and they got out. A short walk brought them to a long gallery lined with armorplast viewports. These gave them their first glimpse of _HMS Firedrake. _A huge white shape hung a few hundred meters from the station's side. From that close, they could only see a portion of the forward hammerhead and some of the main hull. They walked over to the viewports and looked out. The forward chase armament was visible, but they could only see a few of the LAC bay doors further down the hull before their view was cut off by the station.

"You were right, Patric, she does look like a _Minotaur_ class."

Patric smiled and nodded. They had both been surprised when their orders assigned them to a LAC carrier. On reflection, however, it did make sense. The Grayson Navy may have enthusiastically embraced the new concepts of the _Harrington_ class pod superdreadnoughts, but it had been far slower with the new LACs and carriers. Only now were the first two Grayson carriers coming into service, and they had a lot to learn about carrier operations. Anny's 'exile' was not just an excuse to put her out of harm's way, she was going to be doing serious work here.

"She's a beauty, isn't she?" said Patric. In truth, she looked almost identical to every other ship Patric had served on and it would take an expert—or a spacer—to tell them apart. But this was now his ship and he was already falling in love with her. As the assistant Damage Control Officer, he would soon know every part, every nook and cranny of her.

"Yes, she certainly is." agreed Anny. "Well, shall we go aboard?"

"Sounds good."

They turned and walked down the gallery toward one of the umbilicals that projected out from the station. There was a marine sentry that checked their identification and orders before passing them through. Another hundred meters brought them to the boarding tube. With no luggage to tow, they both floated easily through the zero-g and swung themselves onto the deck of _HMS Firedrake_.

The ensign with the side party saluted them aboard and checked their orders again.

"The Skipper is ashore right now," he said. "You may as well go to your quarters and get squared away. You can report to him when he gets back."

"Very well, thank you," said Anny.

"I half expected to see Helen waiting for us," said Patric as they walked away.

Anny smiled. "Yes, I was just thinking that. I wonder where she is? Her last letter said she might be getting a new assignment soon."

Patric and Anny could have taken a transport car but they chose to walk down the main LAC bay gallery to get to their quarters. This also took them by the main boat bay and they stopped to admire _Firedrake's_ crest on the inner wall. A huge, winged, fire-breathing dragon with a swarm of smaller dragons nearly covered one bulkhead.

Eventually they reached Anny's quarters. It seemed strange that there was no sentry guarding 'Ladies Country'. Of course, on a Royal Navy ship, there was no 'Ladies Country'. Anny double-checked the room number on her compad and typed in the entry code. The door slid open and she stepped through with Patric right behind.

Anny stopped abruptly and Patric realized they were not the only ones in the compartment…

"Helen!"

"Alby!"

There they were. Sitting on the bunk and staring at them with impossibly huge grins. An instant later, Anny and Helen were hugging each other and Patric was pumping Alby's hand. Then they switched partners and hugged each other some more.

"What in the world are you two doing here?" asked Anny at last.

"Say hello to your new shipmates!" said a still-grinning Alby Hinsworth.

"You're joking!" exclaimed Patric. "How did you manage to pull that off—or should I ask?"

"I cannot tell a lie," said Alby. "Well, not usually anyway. I shamelessly used my Grandmother's and my father's influence—and my own sparkling personality, of course—to make a few small arrangements."

"You actually got them to put you on the same ship as us?"

"Humph! Such arrogance from these commoners!" said Alby haughtily. "You assume _I_ made the effort to get on _your_ ship! Well, I'll have you know it was the other way around! I was gracious enough to get _you_ aboard _my_ ship! So there!"

"Oh really?" said Helen. "Somehow I don't think it was quite the way you describe, Lieutenant."

Alby blushed. "Okay, you caught me," he admitted. "What I really did was arrange for all three of _us_ to be put aboard _Helen's_ ship—but let's not quibble over the details."

"Well, that's just great!" said Patric. An incredible feeling of warmth spread through him. To be back in RMN uniform on an RMN ship was wonderful enough, but to have his best friends there with him was better than he ever could have hoped for!

"_You!_ You're the one who did it!" cried Anny suddenly, pointing to Alby.

"Moi?"

"Yes! Right after we got our orders to report here, I tried to call up data on the ship and her company. But except for the Captain, all crew data was 'Temporarily unavailable, please try again later' –and it stayed that way for four days! I should have known something was going on."

Alby shrugged and gave a lop-sided smile. "Well, I wanted to surprise you."

"And you certainly did! But you would have had to break into the main information system to have done that and…oh well, I guess I should not be surprised, should I?"

"I need to stay in practice," said Alby.

"So, are you commander of the LAC wing, Helen?" asked Anny.

"Not yet," she replied. "Second in command, though, and my boss is due to get kicked upstairs soon, so I'll probably get the job in six months or so. I already know that you are the assistant TAC officer and for your information, you should be getting the head post at about the same time I do."

"Well, that should be interesting," said Anny. "Not that the TAC officer on a carrier has all that much to do."

"Ha! So you think! You've been out of the loop, girl! Things have been changing a lot."

"Really? How so?"

"With all the new carriers that are in service, the days of the single carrier task force are probably over," said Helen. "They'll be used in large groups now—have been used in large groups as I'm sure you know. A lot more coordination is going to be needed and the tactics are evolving rapidly. Up until now, the LACs have been used more-or-less independently, but there is going to be a much higher degree of cooperation between LACs and the fleet's screening forces in the future. The LACs and the destroyers, cruisers and battlecruisers will be working together and it will all be coordinated from the carriers."

"Wow. That is exciting," said Anny. "So you and I will be working pretty closely, I guess. Me here on the carrier and you tearing up space in that little ship of yours."

"Maybe," said Helen. "But my LAC jockey days may be coming to an end. There's a new grav-com system coming on line that will give instantaneous, nearly real-time data transfer. One of the things we'll be testing out is the idea of keeping the COLAC on the carrier instead of out where the shooting is going on."

"Interesting! Well, at least I won't have to worry about you every time there's a mission."

"What about you, Alby?" asked Patric. "Sensor officer?"

"Yup, on second watch. But, hey! Enough talking shop! We've got some serious celebrating to do!"

"Uh, we really need to report in once the Captain returns," said Anny.

"Already taken care of," said Helen. "He knows what's going on and gave his blessing. Now come on, we've got reservations on the station."

"'The Drydock'?" asked Patric, grinning.

"Where else?" said Alby. "The bill is on me!"

"Right," said Helen. "Now let's get going—Admiral Thayer and the Chief should be waiting for us!"

The End

**Afterwards**

**V**isitors to the Scalloway system, after being shown the colossal orbiting habitats, factories, and shipyards, are usually taken down to the fourth planet. While only a relative handful of people live on the surface full time, it is a popular place for vacations and holidays and its reputation for beauty draws people from long distances to see it. There is a semi-tropical zone near the equator and many beach resorts can be found there. Most of the planet is rather cool, however, and pine forests and majestic glaciers cover large sections of the northern and southern hemispheres. Year round ski facilities are located in many places.

Nearly every visitor is shown the Memorial Gardens. Here can be found the tributes to those who fought and died in the Great Revolt. Near the center of the Gardens, not far from the statues of Commodore Perry Leighton and First President Moira Russell, is a secluded glen. Here, surrounded by a ring of pine trees, is an obelisk. It is made of a polished chunk of battle steel and it stands nearly six meters tall, pointing straight up to space. Several markers surround it, explaining just what it represents. On one of the faces are inscribed the words:

_The Strangers came,_

_And tho' they owed us naught,_

_Beside us strove,_

_And beside us fought._

_Their word held true,_

_For Freedom's start,_

_The noble crew,_

_With the Lion's Heart._

**Author's Note:**

This story was begun in April of 1999. This was after the publication of "Echoes of Honor" by David Weber, but before any of the information about his "Ashes of Victory" was released. Not surprisingly, many of my notions about how the war would proceed that were presented in both this work and "Tales from the Academy" have turned out to be wrong. Rather than try to go back and re-write both books to make them consistent, I am going to leave them as-is. You may consider this an alternate Honorverse if you choose.

However, you have probably noticed that I have wrestled the end of my story around so that it ends in approximately the same place as "Ashes of Victory". Of course, about eighteen more months of time have elapsed in my universe than in Mr. Weber's, but you can chalk that up to relativistic effects. Perhaps, someday, I will carry on with the story of Anny and Helen and Alby and Patric. If I do, I will be able to stay far more consistent with the real Honorverse. I hope that I do have that opportunity. I've grown quite attached to those four youngsters and I'm going to miss them.

Finally, I want to thank all of my readers. It has been your enthusiasm and thoughtful comments and criticisms that have kept me at this. In many respects, this is _your_ story. I hope you have enjoyed it.

Scott Washburn

March 5, 2000Anny and the Grav Wave

By Jonathan Cresswell-Jones

O sit down a while, for in song now it's told

(A long way from hearth, and a long way from home)

Of a wee Grayson girl forged in Harrington's mold

(I feared we were lost, and forever would roam)

For I crewed on the _Lionheart_, prize of our prey,

When we stared at our death just a sail's width away;

And I still thank the Tester I saw it that day,

(When Anny Payne held our lives in her hands!)

With Brock as our captain and Payne as our First

(A long way from hearth, and a long way from home)

We would take our prize in, let the Peeps do their worst

(I feared we were lost, and forever would roam)

But the Peeps stalked our trail and they dug us our grave,

We gave as we got - but we got as we gave,

And they left us a cripple adrift in a wave,

(When Anny Payne held our lives in her hands!)

The damage reports, they did sound a black knell

(A long way from hearth, and a long way from home)

We'd drift in our Limbo 'til it turned to our Hell

(I feared we were lost, and forever would roam)

With no time to repair the HG, for a start -

If we turned in the wave, it would tear us apart -

And the Captain was down, wounded clear to his heart,

(When Anny Payne held our lives in her hands!)

There were none who could steer such a wreck through such strain

(A long way from hearth, and a long way from home)

Save the best of all pilots, young Andreanne Payne,

(I feared we were lost, and forever would roam)

So she fought our own ship, and she fought the wave's power,

And she fought her fatigue to steer hour by hour,

And she fought for our lives until Death could but glower,

(When Anny Payne held our lives in her hands!)

Then at last we broke free from the grip of the wave,

(A long way from hearth, and a long way from home)

And we gaped at our helms-woman, skilful and brave,

(I feared we were lost, and forever would roam)

And we knew that no matter her name or her glands,

She could wrestle a ship through the Devil's own bands,

With the blood of her Captain still wet on her hands,

(When Anny Payne held our lives in her hands!)

Now I say if you feel that a woman's accursed

(She brought us to hearth, and she brought us to home)

'Fore you tell to _her_, you'll fight all of _us_ first!

(Though we feared we were lost, and forever would roam)

For I've seen a wrecked ship fight a grav wave and win,

And I've served with the woman who brought us all in,

And if _you_ weren't there, then your word's not worth tin -

When Anny Payne held our lives in her hands!


End file.
